


Wander

by beezyland



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Based on Maggie Stiefvater's Shiver, Cancer Arc, Explicit Language, F/M, Fantasy, Rating May Change, Romance, Wolf Senses Wolf Instincts Human Heart, werewolf assassins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2020-11-23 03:35:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20885462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beezyland/pseuds/beezyland
Summary: Despite a wolf attack that ended in the death of his best friend, Steve still spends most of his younger years watching and drawing the wolves that live in the woods behind his house. One wolf with a red coat and strange green eyes watches him back.Ten years after leaving, Steve returns to care for his dying mother. That summer he meets Natasha, a mysterious bartender who has the same eyes as his wolf and secrets that will change everything Steve thought he knew about his hometown.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> _ “Of course I’ll hurt you. Of course you’ll hurt me. Of course we will hurt each other. But this is the very condition of existence. To become spring, means accepting the risk of winter. To become presence, means accepting the risk of absence.” _ ―Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

Steve has always been fascinated by wolves.

Chronic illness keeps him from playing outside with the other kids on most days so Steve spends a lot of his time in bed, one of his mother’s handmade quilts tucked around his frail body and a sketchbook on his lap, colored pencils lost in the sheets.

Steve makes his own personal game of counting the wolves that tiptoe along the property line right where his backyard transitions into dense woods. He would count them, draw them, try to distinguish between them and wonder about their lives. A part of him envies the wolves for their strength, their freedom, and their sense of pack and family. They’re beautiful, but only from a distance. A lesson he learned the hard way.

He remembers being seven, easily knocked down by Old Mister Stan’s mean bulldog who then proceeded to bite the sleeve of his favorite Dodgers sweatshirt and tug till it tore. It was not fun, being skinny and sickly, struggling beneath a stocky, hundred pound menace as Old Mister Stan shouted at him to get off his lawn. Steve also remembers Bucky laughing and pointing at him as only real friends do.

Being jumped by a two hundred pound adult male wolf is an entirely different story. Thirteen and still skinny, Steve hears Bucky shout his name from somewhere in the dark. It’s hard to pinpoint after his head slammed back against a rock beneath the snow. He recognizes the wolf atop him as the Alpha, gray-white fur and the biggest he’s ever seen. It presses him into the snow with its weight and tears through his parka as if it was as thin as paper. Then comes the pain. Unimaginable pain.

Steve remembers thinking, _this is how I die_. Not in a hospital bed, barely able to breathe, not due to an asthma attack or one of the many ailments he’s collected since birth. No. _Death by wolves_. Death because he didn’t listen to his mom and respect her rules. Death because he snuck out of the house on the coldest night of winter and didn’t respect the wolves.

Out of nowhere, Bucky charges over and whacks the Alpha with a flashlight right in the eye. The wolf whimpers and falters. It gives Bucky enough room to loop his arm around Steve and drag him to his feet. Bucky pushes himself between Steve and the wolves, the edge of a ravine at their backs. Bucky growls and lunges at the Alpha like they’re taught when fending off a wolf, but the Alpha doesn’t flinch or back down, but bears its fangs. So much for those wolf safety presentations the school forces on them.

Plan B: Bucky lights a firecracker and throws it right at the wolves.

At the sparks and crackle near their paws, the wolves scatter. Steve and Bucky seize the opportunity and move. Bucky lights another firecracker and another, moving up toward a bridge of abandon train tracks. Steve wheezes and coughs, the freezing air like knives at his lungs with every breath. Every time Steve stumbles, Bucky grabs him, keeps him moving, pushing onward.

“You okay?” Bucky asks.

When Steve pulls his hand away from where he instinctively put pressure on the wound, his fingers come away bloody and shaking. His sleeve is torn and soaked through from where the wolf bit him. His heart pounds hard enough to rattle his entire body, his entire being, adrenalin rushing. He barely feels the pain, but knows he’ll feel it in the morning. That is, if they make it till then.

“Stevie!” Bucky gives him a firm shake. “You in shock or somethin’?”

“I’ve been better,” Steve replies, gasping for breath.

“Alright, just hold on,” Bucky say, pointing out an old abandon train track that stretches across Kirby River. “There. It’s our best bet.”

“Stupid bet.” Steve clenches his jaw to keep from crying.

“Got any better ideas, genius?”

No. Bucky’s right. It’s their only option.

Steve does a quick, shaky sign of the cross. “Let’s pray the wolves aren’t as stupid as we are.”

“Just great,” Bucky mutters under his breath.

It’s the coldest night of winter, one where the full moon hangs high in the cloudless sky, illuminating the old, rusty rail line that looks like it could fall apart under the slightest bit of weight. It’s a fifty-foot drop into rough, rushing water. The sound if it is deafening, one nonstop roar, beckoning them to their demise. Just like in every other stupid thing they’ve done in their short lives, Bucky leads the way and Steve follows close behind. They inch over the slippery iron train tracks to a soundtrack of angry water below and howling, hungry wolves all around them.

“Don’t look down, Stevie!”

“Speak for yourself, Buck!”

When Bucky stops abruptly, Steve nearly runs into him. Steve’s legs wobble and he has to grab onto Bucky’s shoulders to find his balance. Just ahead of them, on the other side is another wolf. It’s different from the others, smaller. When Bucky shines the flashlight at it, the wolf doesn’t so much as blink. Its coat is a red rust color with a bit of black down the spine, its paws and underbelly are as white as the thick snow all around them. Wolves with gray, black and white coats are often spotted in these woods, never red. At least, not that Steve knows of. The wolf stares right at them, but shows no aggression. If Steve didn’t know any better, he’d describe its behavior as curious.

“What do we do?” Bucky asks. “I’m outta firecrackers.”

“Just keep going.”

“Easy for you to say, hidin’ behind me.”

“It won’t hurt us,” Steve assures him.

“How do you know?”

“Just trust me, Buck.”

When Bucky still doesn’t move, Steve steps around him and takes the flashlight. Steve keeps his eyes on the red wolf that still refuses to react even as the space between them grows smaller and smaller. It’s as if it’s waiting for something. Steve tries to figure out what that could be, as much as he can think clearly between his injury and his fear, when he hears a _CRASH!_

Steve turns just in time to watch Bucky fall through the aged, rotting wood. He disappears, the ground giving out right beneath him. Bucky manages to grab ahold of the edge, leaving his legs dangling over misty darkness.

“Buck!” Steve drops down to his knees, grabbing at Bucky’s arms with his hands slippery with his own blood. Steve tries to pull him back up, but he can’t. He’s too weak. “Bucky, hold on!”

Bucky grunts and uses all of his strength to try to hoist himself up, just for his arms to give out, falling back down and losing some of his grip. All he can do is hold on to what little purchase he has as Steve helplessly holds on to him.

“Steve, I need you to tell my mom and sisters that I love them.”

“Tell them yourself when you get home, jerk.” Steve digs his blood-stained fingers into Bucky’s sleeve.

“I mean it, punk. Take care of them, alright? Keep that dick, Thompson, away from my sister.”

“Buck…”

“I love you too, Steve.”

Steve ignores the way his dry throat aches. His chest tightens, but not because of his asthma. It feels like the Grim Reaper has his bony fingers around his heart, preparing to squeeze with no remorse. “You push up and I’ll pull you up on three, alright? One. Two—”

They don’t make it to three. Bucky slips through Steve’s bloody hands.

“No!” Steve shouts, reaching a hand down into the massive hole, but there’s no use.

Bucky’s gone. He’s _gone_.

Thick tears fill Steve’s eyes and a mournful animal sound escapes his throat. After minutes of just staring down into the dark, listening and only hearing the river’s haunting song, Steve gasps for air and flops onto his back. He stares up at the bright, aluminous moon peeking out from behind naked trees. The details get fuzzy after that. Consumed by the darkness, the shock, the cold, and the blood loss, Steve just shuts his eyes and cries. He gets lost in his head for who knows how long. Until something cold and wet touches his cheek and brings him back to his body.

Steve opens his eyes and finds a brilliant pair of green eyes right above him, a stare he feels in his soul. The red wolf hovers over him, casting a shadow over his tear-stained face. _Green eyes_. Vibrant, hypnotizing and unlike any eyes he’s seen before, let alone on a wolf. At first he’s afraid, thinking the strong smell of blood drew the wolf to him, but it doesn’t attack, just holds his gaze.

_I’m dead_, Steve remembers thinking. _And this wolf is my guide to whatever awaits now. At least… At least I’ll see Buck again… _

His memories of what happens after that are basically nonexistent.

Months and even years later, specialists tell him he probably blocked the rest out, a common response in the aftermath of trauma. Steve doesn’t remember how he manages to navigate the woods and find his way home in such a state, body torn up, heart torn up, but somehow he does. His mother finds him on the back porch and starts to cry, but Sarah Rogers doesn’t let her tears stop her from contacting the authorities as fast as she can and rushing her son to the hospital.

They deploy a search party immediately. They search and search for days and weeks that stretch into months and years, but they never recover Bucky’s body. As foggy as some of the details might be, Steve’s sure he’ll never forget that night for the rest of his life. He’s sure he’ll never forgive himself for not being strong enough.

…

It’s late winter and the Asgardian pack is struggling. Their numbers have been decimated and they’re desperately hungry. They’re out for blood tonight.

They’re cautioned not to wander or at least not to get in the way, but she doesn’t fear those tactless brutes who are no better than the ordinary wolves who weren’t blessed with the gift as they were. It isn’t like she or any of the others need the warning. They’re Widows. Widows only exist in the shadows. Tonight the shadows are deeper than ever. The moon’s too bright, air too crisp, too much restlessness and impending death in the air.

She observes from afar as the Asgardians stalk two humans before striking out at the smaller, sickly one. Typical. She reads the desperation in their leader's movement. She reads the desperation in the others as they crowd around. It’s a different kind of restlessness born out of necessity. She wonders about the last time they had a proper meal, the last time they killed. As the pack tears into the boy, she loses interest and continues on her way, eager to report her observations.

She’s about to creep off into the shadows, where she belongs, when she hears a disturbance at her back. Those same two humans run along the length of the river, both very much still alive, one just barely. She isn’t quite sure why, but she stops to watch them.

The resilience of the human spirit surprises her every time. It shouldn’t. Nothing should ever surprise her, but this does. These boys. So she watches, breathes in the scent of salt and fresh blood and sheer determination. Just a whiff reminds her of another life, a life she sometimes forgets she once lived.

Despite the distance between them, when her eyes meet the survivor boy’s, it hits her hard._ So human_. _So honest_ and_ alive_. _Determined to live_. She doesn’t move even as a light shines in her direction. She resists the way her ears want to pull back and her tail wants to point straight out. She fights her instincts and remains perfectly neutral even though she feels like her insides are rearranging, tearing, at the mere sight of this _human_. It’s like The Change without the pain. It’s confusing and delicious. _What is happening to me?_

Then the other boy falls from the tracks and the survivor makes the saddest howl she’s ever heard in her life. Never before has she seen a creature look so broken and yet, so beautiful. He feels too much. They all do. Humans. Stupid.

What does it say about her that she just has to get closer, that she’s just seen another perish on those very tracks and yet she takes the risk and crosses them to get closer to the tiny, frail _boy_ caving in on himself?

Stupid.

She moves slowly. Over the rush of water, she hears the creak of the wood beneath her paws and the sounds of the Asgardians hunting grow further and further away. Just one more look. Just a little peek. It goes against her instincts and her training. She doesn’t know why the sudden urge either, but in her fur, she doesn’t question, doesn’t overthink, just acts.

When she meets his eyes, none of that, nothing else seems to matter. The feeling doesn’t disappear. If anything, it intensifies with the forbidden closeness. It feels like this could be the start of her end and yet she still doesn’t run.

Stupid.


	2. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve returns home and sees the red wolf again.

_This is what has to happen._

That’s what Steve keeps telling himself as he loads the last of his moving boxes into the back of the Dodger blue 1965 Volkswagen Beetle he’s had since high school. The last time he packed up the Beetle like this was after his high school graduation when he moved the hell out of his small hometown of Marvel Falls. Steve stares up at the brick red Brooklyn apartment he’s lived in since college and only hesitates for a second.

He’s made a good living here. Went to college on an art scholarship and after graduation he landed a comfortable job as a resident cartoonist for the Daily Bugle. It isn’t a life of art gallery showings and rich clients—Vanessa Marianna would probably laugh him out of her gallery—but it paid the bills. He even managed to fly his mom out to the city for holidays. Steve left his past in Marvel and part of him didn’t think he’d ever go back.

Then he gets a call and Sarah Rogers’ voice is so steady it’s unsettling. She shatters his entire world with four word.

_The cancer. It’s back._

And then she says a few more.

_Metastasis._

_It’s in my bones._

_The doctor gave me six months._

Once he somehow managed to scrape himself off the floor, Steve insisted she fly to the city and they get a second opinion. He squared his shoulders even as his phone shook in his hand, ready to call Tony, who must know someone who’s the best in their field and has a brilliant albeit aggressive care plan Tony would probably codename _Project Fuck Cancer_. In turn, Sarah told him she’d prefer not to, that she’s seen the toll it can take on not only a person, but their family. She lived it the first time when Steve was still in high school. She’d rather leave matters in God’s hands. All she wants is to see him before she goes.

Sarah Rogers is all he has in the world and so Steve does her one better. After all the years she balanced working at the clinic, caring for people she didn’t even know just to go home and have to care for a sickly son, Steve’s ready to return the favor. He quit his job (gets an earful from Jameson) and packs the contents of his loft.

Steve says a silent goodbye to a building he did so much growing up in and a city he fell in love with before getting into his little car packed with brown boxes and heading north.

Marvel Falls is one of those small lakeside towns that hardly ever changes despite the years that fly by it. The streets look the same and the storefronts down Main Street look the same and even the unrelenting wilderness that surrounds their sleepy community, continues creeping up on neighborhoods that look exactly the same. He used to hate the sameness as a restless teenager. It used to be annoying. Now it’s haunting.

“Steven Grant Rogers, you get into your car and drive back to Brooklyn right this instance!” Sarah Rogers stomps her foot on the wooden porch Steve would cover in colorful chalk drawing as a child and even as a teen entertaining the neighborhood kids.

Steve doesn’t even shut his car door before running up the front steps to wrap his arms around his mother. “Can’t. I quit my job, broke my lease. Looks like you’re stuck with me.”

Sarah frames her son’s chiseled jaw with her frail hands, her eyes tearing up. “I always forget how gigantic you’ve gotten! Honestly, Steve, you’re like an ogre now! And why is your shirt so tight? I don’t think you’re buying the right size. And why aren’t you wearing a jacket? It’s freezing!”

“It is,” he agrees. “You weren’t waiting out here, were you?”

“Honey, I’m dying, not stupid.” Steve’s face fractures when he hears that and Sarah coos, squeezing his cheeks together in her hands. “I’ve got a cottage pie waiting for you inside. Just pulled it out of the oven. One of the dishes I’m going to teach you so you can teach your children and they can teach theirs.” She smiles wide. “And I’ve also got a bigger surprise for you so go lock up your car and grab your jacket!”

Steve leans in and kisses his mom’s cheek before running back to his car. He slides his arms through the sleeves of his jacket just to make her happy and pulls out a beautiful bouquet of tulips—a mix of pink, red, orange and yellow. Just as he locks his car, the strangest sensation takes over, like he’s being watched.

A teenage girl with long dark hair dressed in all black stands on the next porch over and stares right at him with eyes heavily ringed in black makeup. She doesn’t look away or react at all when Steve catches her staring, not even when he gives her a friendly wave. Steve clears his throat and hands his mom the bouquet of flowers.

“Oh honey, you didn’t have to.” Sarah brings the bouquet to her nose and smiles. “And don’t mind Wanda. She really is a sweet girl once you get to know her.”

“If you say so.”

Steve pulls the red front door open ahead of his mom and the way it squeals makes his heart ache with nostalgia. No matter how hard he tried to be quiet when he’d attempt to ignore his health problems and sneak out to go play with the neighborhood kids, that red door always gave him away. Sarah takes his arm and leads him through the house that’s homey and warm. It isn’t very big, just a two bedroom cottage, but it has always been enough for the two of them.

There’s a surprise inside indeed. A pretty blonde surprise sitting on the thoroughly broken-in couch they’ve had as long as Steve has been alive. Sharon Carter. For the bulk of their childhood, Bucky would teased Steve that Sharon had a crush on him. Then after losing Bucky, Sam Wilson moved to town and took over for him. Steve refused to hear it every single time. After all, she’s Peggy’s cousin. Sarah doesn’t even think to introduce them as she rushes to the kitchen to put the flowers into a glass vase by the sink window. When Sharon sees him, she raises her hand in hello and Steve doesn’t know what to do other than mimic the gesture albeit awkwardly.

“Sharon, hold on a sec, hon, I have to show Steve his surprise!” Sarah calls out. “Steve, come here! And keep that jacket on!”

Steve follows his mom through the kitchen and out the back door into the yard where frost dusts the colorless grass. Right next to his mother’s garden is a wooden shed that’s more like a small studio with a Dodger blue tin roof. She’s moved all of his old art supplies in there, including the ease he found at a garage sale, leftover blank canvases, buckets of paint and bookshelves of all of his old art books. Sketches, drawing and paintings line the walls. All of friends and the woods and wolves. There are homier touches too—a gorgeous distressed table, some chairs, and a plush, burgundy oversized recliner.

“Mom, you didn’t have to do all this.”

“I did,” Sarah insists. “It’s bad enough you have to drop your life for me. I thought you should have your own space.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. And when you see Sam, you should thank him too. He did all the work, built this thing and got everything set up for you. The recliner was a gift from him.”

“Of course it was.”

Steve laughs when he finds all of his old sketchbooks lined up on one shelf. He always made a point to write the year on the spine and his mom arranged them all in a row from pieces of paper he stapled into a sketchbook at age six to beautiful leather-bound books he’d get as birthday and Christmas presents. Steve pulls one out at random and flips it open. Drawings of his red wolf. His eyes go right out the window to the trees that line the back of the yard.

_What happened to you, red wolf? _

“Well?” Sarah asks. “Do you like it?”

“More than that…” Steve puts the sketchbook back in its place before lifting his mother in a hug and spinning her in a circle. “I love it.” He presses a kiss to her blonde hair.

“Anything for my favorite son.”

_Only son_, he corrects in his head, but just gives her another squeeze before ushering her to the door. “C’mon, I’m starving.”

As he cuts into the cottage pie, his mouth waters from the smell alone. Sarah explains that Sharon is her hospice nurse and his appetite disappears.

It’s Sharon’s job to make sure Sarah’s comfortable in her last few months. Spending time with his mom, talking with her, Steve feels like so much of this is unnecessary. She can get around the house on her own, hold a conversation, laugh, smile, but as the minutes tick by, he can see her fading, that she needs rest. While Sarah takes a nap, Sharon goes over pain and medication management, signs of worsening symptoms and side effects to look out for. It all makes Steve’s world spin, but he just commits it all to memory so he can be confident in how to care for his mom once Sharon leaves.

“My number’s on the fridge,” Sharon says. “Don’t hesitate to call if you need anything or have any questions.” Sharon glances over at Sarah’s bedroom door and her expression softens, saddens. “Did you know that your mom was my mentor? When I volunteered at the clinic and when I was in nursing school, even after. I don’t know how to repay her so this, being here, visiting more often than I do anyone else, just to have tea and listen to her talk about her son she’s so proud of…” Sharon smiles. “Really, if either of you need anything at all, no matter the time, I’ll be here.”

“Thank you, Sharon.”

The blonde takes a deep breath to recollect herself. “Okay, if you don’t have any more questions, I should go.”

“Sure. I’ll walk you.”

He walks her to her car and watches her drive way. When he walks back inside, he hears his mom say, “She’s single, you know,” from her bedroom and Steve laughs, “Mom, she’s Peggy’s cousin!”

He rolls up his sleeves before clearing the table and washing the dishes. He needs a task. The last thing he needs is to let his mind wander to darker places. Standing at the sink, he thinks he sees movement in the trees. It’s dark out. When he stares harder, he doesn’t see anything, but he’s already curious. Steve flips the outside lights on, illuminating the backyard that seems to go on forever with the way the woods stretch on further than the eye can see. Just before Steve walks outside, he grabs a single red tulip from the vase near the window.

If he’s going to give in and let his mind wander, he might as well do it with a paintbrush. It smells good outside. The air smells clean and crips, the way it is after fresh snow. A good few inches of it now dusts the yard. And that’s when he sees her again for the first time in what feels like lifetimes. The red wolf. Standing beneath a canopy of trees at the edge of the yard. He knows it’s the same wolf. He’d know that penetrating green stare anywhere.

As Steve breathes in and exhales slowly, his breath coming out in visible bursts, he feels like a teenager again. Ever since that night, he’d see her all the time. More so in the winter months, whenever Steve went to take out the trash or stepped out for some air, he’d linger and she’d show up in that very same spot, but never any closer. Whenever he moved even an inch in her direction, she would disappear so quick that if he blinked he missed it.

Most assumed he’d be afraid of wolves or blame them for that night, but that’s not the case. They were just doing what wolves do. He and Bucky were the ones playing with fire in the wolves’ living room. If anything, it taught him to respect the wolves and keep his distance. At least, it should have. Steve continued to observe them, watch them and draw them. He isn’t afraid of his red wolf. On the contrary, he became even more drawn to her after that night.

“I’m back.” Steve pauses like he expects the wolf to answer and laughs at himself when he realizes how ridiculous that is. Steve scratches at the back of his neck, feeling awkward. The red wolf just keeps studying him. “I don’t know how long I’ll be here, longer than I expect, hopefully. You don’t mind sharing the town again, do you?”

He shows the tulip to the wolf before setting it down. Despite how stupid he feels, he was right. The blood red pedals contrast beautifully against the white snow. Even when he was miles away, little things like that reminded him of her. Steve laughs at himself again and thinks to head into his art studio when the cold starts biting at the tip of his nose. Before he turns away, Steve sees the wolf take a step _toward_ him. Steve freezes. The wolf freezes. Then she takes a few more steps, bringing them closer than they’d ever been since that night.

She moves gracefully, carefully, until she’s so close Steve could easily reach out and touch, so close that he’s surrounded by the musky scent of wolf. It’s earthy, but also sweet. He’s so taken with their surprise closeness that it takes him a second to notice her muzzle stained with fresh blood. Steve swallows hard. What the hell did you expect, Rogers? Wolves are wild animals. He knows this, tells himself this, but he still isn’t afraid of her, only afraid of scaring her away.

“Are you hurt?” Steve asks.

She doesn’t flinch or run like he expects. Those incredible green eyes are just as he remembers, focused on his face, unblinking, body language cautious. A few seconds of tense silence pass between them before the red wolf sits and stretches out like a sphinx. Never before has Steve seen her so much as sit. She’s always on her paws, alert, ready to run. Now her tail is even wagging. He thinks it’s a cue and so he crouches down in front of her and relaxes the best he can.

He knows better, but does it anyway. He has wanted to since he was just a boy. Steve carefully puts a hand on the wolf’s red fur. She flinches, but doesn’t run or attack. Steve smoothes his fingers down her coat, searching for the downy fluff beneath the dense, outer guard hairs. Just when he thinks maybe she won’t tear his arm off, she does him one better, pressing her head to the length of his arm, just shy of nuzzling. For a moment, Steve forgets where he is, who he is, why he’s back and why he stayed away for so long. Nothing else matters, not even the cold eating away at his senses.

Movement in the bushes steals his attention and ruins everything. Another wolf watches them from the edge of the forest. Steve hears a low growl and feels vibration against his body, realizing his wolf is growling at the other. The other wolf boldly steps closer with slinky, graceful movement. Its coat is as black as sin with a red hue to it under the deck light and its eyes glow, but for only a moment. Steve falls back into the snow when he sees it. This wolf isn’t curious or cautious, more mischievous and murderous.

The red wolf springs up onto all fours and steps forward as if to act as a shield, _his_ shield, her pelt bristling, making her appear larger. The black wolf’s eyes shift from the red wolf to Steve and back, its lips curling up to expose sharp canines.

As Steve climbs to his feet, the red wolf presses up against him, still rumbling a warning of a sound. She presses against him harder, forcing Steve to step back. She keeps it up until he’s stepping back onto the deck and toward the back door. Steve goes back inside, shutting the door after him. He takes a deep breath and realizes it’s the first he’s taken in the last few seconds.

Instead of running off, the black wolf darts toward the red, almost parading in a proud fashion, head held high, ears forward, tail raised. It waits expectantly, but the red wolf just meets and holds the black wolf’s stare. Steve isn’t a wolf expert, but he’s read some stuff. That action, that response, is more a human gesture than wolf. The defiance sets the black wolf off. It jumps the red one, twisting and jumping, bearing their teeth, snapping and growling.

Steve watches with his nose practically pressed to the glass door and suddenly it slides out from under him. Sarah walks out onto the deck, banging a spatula against a pot. The wolves look up in surprise, but not exactly fear. The red wolf races toward the trees, but pauses just at the edge, looking to the black wolf that stares right at Steve for a long moment before speeding off into the dark. His heart pounds hard in his chest as he sucks in a deep breath that makes him feel like he might need his inhaler for the first time in years.

“Darn wolves,” Sarah mutters to herself. “If they aren’t careful, some idiot with a gun is gonna be bragging about hanging a wolf pelt on his wall one of these days.”

“Mom, have you seen those wolves before?”

“The black one, never. But the red one…” Sarah taps the bottom of the spatula against the bottom of the pot, building up a rhythm as she thinks. “Come to think of it, that’s the first time I saw Red since you were back in high school.”

Hearing that makes his stomach flip and Steve shakes his head at how ridiculous he’s being.

“Mom, you shouldn’t be out of bed.” Steve takes the pot and spatula from her.

“And you need to be more careful. I know you like to draw the wolves, but if you let them into the yard like that they’ll just get braver and braver. I’m all for sharing the woods with them and preserving their habitats, but them wandering through the neighborhood isn’t safe for us or them. And don’t even think about feeding them, Steve.”

“I know, mom.” Steve ushers Sarah back inside. He throws a look over his shoulder, hoping to see his wolf at least once more, but all he sees is darkness and hears the echo of howls in the distance.

…

She has never let a human touch her like that before.

When in her fur, she has never been close enough to a human to be touched like that. Well, she has been close to humans in the past, but them on their backs as she ripped and clawed and watched the light leave their eyes doesn’t really count, does it?

Just before the biggest mission of her life _that scent _returns. It’s intoxicating and distracting and therefore dangerous. All these years without a single whiff and now it’s back in full force. She pushes it out of her mind, of course, focuses on the job she has to do. She executes flawlessly, striking at just the right time of night that he bleeds out just as the snow starts to fall, covering her tracks as she retreats back into the woods. She finishes the job with time to spare. Instead of immediately reporting back per protocol and routine, she follows that scent. She falls into familiar steps that bring her to the very edge of the woods.

She has come to associate this house, this yard with the smell of sickness and impending death. It hasn't smelt of him in years, but now it’s back. And if it’s back then he…

So she waits.

She has been waiting for him since that night on the bridge. It feels familiar and almost comforting if she were the type to relish in comfort, which she isn’t.

Sure enough, he walks out. The boy. _The man_. He’s big and strong now like maybe he could kill a wolf with his bare hands and his scent overwhelms her. It’s something that makes her want to whine and tap her paws anxiously, but she doesn’t. Too controlled. She was raised and trained to know better and remains neutral. She’s usually so in control, but then he starts talking to her, smiling, and suddenly she wants _more_ and _closer_. Still riding the adrenalin from her earlier mission, her earlier kill, she indulges. She moves out of the safety of the shadows and into the light.

Too close.

Close enough for him to touch her coat, close enough to press the top of her head into his solid, muscled arm. She nearly closes her eyes, content to melt into his touch…

Then _she_ shows up. The highest ranking Widow and the biggest bitch. On two legs, she goes by Dottie. She shows up with mischief in her eyes. It’s almost too easy to imagine that infuriating tilt of a smile on human lips. At least she doesn’t have to worry about the older wolf running back to their superiors and reporting the incident like the young pup would or try to rip out the human’s throat like the one who thinks himself a god among wolves. No, this one’s too smart. She’ll play the long game, sit on the information until it becomes useful to her. That’s why she’s always a step ahead, has survived for so long and has more kills than any other Widow.

Rank demands respect, but the red wolf refuses to roll onto her back for anyone.

They aren’t a pack, not really, not in the traditional sense at least. They aren’t a pack like the Asgardians. They don’t hunt together or play. They don’t birth pups and teach them the ways of their ancestors. Widows are made and trained and they look out for themselves and only themselves unless their mission specifies otherwise. They don’t howl. They certainly don’t concern themselves with humans, certainly don’t protect humans, certainly don’t—

But even once the other wolf is long gone, the red wolf can feel her teasing accusation butting at the fringe of her mind. An accusation that could get her and that human killed.

_Are you in love, Natalia?_

She doesn’t return right after. She doesn’t check in and she knows there will be consequences, but the consequences will be far worse if any of the others catch _his_ scent on her. She can still smell it herself, still _feel _it. It clings to every one of her hairs, envelops her. She races through stretches of desolate forest, through sleet and snow, drunk on the scent and feeling of his touch, the baritone of his voice, the sensation of his fingers through her ruff. Every part of her buzzes with the memory of their closeness.

_No_.

Too close.

No more.

She shouldn’t have gotten that close. Her instincts and her training warn her against contact with humans, contact that goes against nature. Her instincts and her training remind her what happens to Widows who deviate from their orders, their purpose.

Hours, even days later, she still growls low in her throat at the memory of the accusation.

_Are you in love, Natalia?_

No.

Never.

_Love is for humans and I’m wolf_.


	3. Old Friends and New Faces

Steve starts every morning with a punishing run through the woods that ends in a cool down jog through town and back home. Ever since that night, keeping fit and becoming stronger has become almost an obsession. He never wants to let anyone else down because he’s too weak.

He knows every street that never changes, routes and paths imprinted into his memory from all those mornings in high school when he was finally strong enough to jog, to play sports and join the baseball team. He’ll never forget how put-out his mother would act after every practice and every game when he would come home with streaks of dirt across his uniform and practice clothes. Despite her exasperation, she always managed to have his uniform pristine before the next game.

_“Stevie, your uniform is so clean! How’d your momma get the whites so white? She must love you.”_

She did. She does.

Just as Steve’s about to round the corner and pass the only high school in town, a silver blur races by him. Steve blinks free from his thoughts and sees a teenage boy running ahead of him at an inhuman speed.

“Hey! On _your_ left!”

Another body passes him, but this one pauses to face him and jog in place. He’s met by a man with a gleaming, photoshoot-ready smile and a space between his front teeth that he insists gives him character.

“Hey, Sam.”

“Rogers! Where’ve you been, man?”

Sam throws himself at Steve in a hug that nearly makes the two of them topple over right there in the middle of the road. Steve has known Sam since the Wilson family moved to town before high school. If Steve made a list of all the stupid, reckless things he did in high school, Sam Wilson probably instigated most of them.

The group of high school boys that had been jogging just behind Sam, eye their reunion with curiosity. Sam clasps Steve on the shoulder and turns him toward them.

“Guys, I’d like you to meet the reason we have our one and only state championship.”

“I wasn’t the _only_ reason,” Steve argues. “Baseball _is_ a team sport, Sam.”

“But you fielded that blooper to right field,” a voice speaks up from a boy who’s just jogging in to join them, obviously the back of the pack. “You threw the runner out at home plate from right field for the final out in the ninth inning to win the championship game!”

“Face it, man.” Sam nudges him with an elbow. “You’re kind of a legend around here.”

“Are you coming to see us play, Mr. Rogers?”

“You bet,” Steve replies, because what else is he supposed to say?

“Careful what you promise, Rogers. We’re gonna hold you to it.” Sam claps his hands to get the boys’ attention. “Alright, head back to school and hit the showers! I’m not writing anyone notes, making excuses why you’re late for homeroom. Head back and hydrate. I’ll be right behind you.”

Once the starstruck student athletes continue on their way down the street, Sam throws his arm around Steve’s neck in a playful headlock. That’s one of the great things about friends like Sam. No matter how much time passes without them talking, when they see each other again, it’s like no time has passed at all.

“So you’re coaching the baseball team?”

“Assistant coach and Rhodey won’t let me forget it,” Sam replies. “I’m the guidance counselor at the school.”

“Sam, that’s great.”

Sam’s smile dims into a somber kind of reverence. “Hey, I heard about your mom. I’m sorry, man. If there’s anything you need, Maria and I, we got you. Anything at all.”

“Thanks.” Steve smiles, but it’s thin and just a little forced. He doesn’t know how to deal with the sympathetic sentiments and he isn’t quite ready to deal with the bombardment of them. “And thanks for helping my mom set up that shed in our backyard.”

“It’s cool, right?” Sam asks. “Did you try out the recliner? That thing’s a dream.”

“It’s nice. Really red… So, how’s Maria?”

“Pregnant,” Sam replies. “_Mean_ pregnant. So pregnant and so mean, man! I keep telling her to take it easy, but she’s convinced the entire resort will fall apart without her there to command and control every last detail, and she’s probably right.”

“Congratulations!” Steve’s smile turns genuine. “You’re having a baby!”

Sam’s brows lower and his face scrunches up. “I didn’t say the baby is mine.” Steve’s face falls along with his jaw and Sam grins a second later. “I’m kidding! Of course that kid is mine!” Steve’s shoulders sag and he smacks his old friend who’s busy patting himself on the back. “Serves you right, man! I marry the narky hall monitor drill sergeant and you don’t show or call or text or even send a toaster! Damn. That’s how it is?”

Steve’s shoulders curl in on himself and he stares at the ground. “Sam, I…”

“Steve, I’m kidding _again_. It’s cool. We both know how hard it is for you to come back and be here. We got enough toasters like seriously, a shit ton of toasters. Not even one waffle maker and you know I love breakfast.” Sam’s smile softens around the edges. “But I’m glad you’re back even though the reason…”

“I know.” Steve meets his eyes and nods. “It’s…not as bad as I thought, being home, I mean.”

“Good. And you know this means you have zero excuse to miss Peggy’s wedding.”

Steve thinks of the simple yet classy wedding invitation that arrived in his mailbox months ago. He thinks about holding the RSVP card between his fingers, feeling the guilt that came from missing Sam and Maria’s wedding. He remembers thinking he’d grow up and marry Peggy Carter in the chapel where he spent so many Sunday mornings of his youth. It feels strange to think he’d ever been so hopeful.

“Wouldn’t miss it.” Steve starts towards the school because he figures Sam probably has to get back. Whether Sam notices or not, he falls in step beside him just like all those mornings they’d walk to school together. “I spent years in love with Peggy Carter and then Bucky’s sister called her _English_ once and that was it.”

It hadn’t happened quite that fast, but the more Steve reflects on those years, it was always there. An inevitable kind of love.

Sam laughs loudly and it’s such a great, warm sound that brings him right back to his childhood. “Angie ‘Stole Yo Girl’ Martinelli got game! Can’t hate.”

“Can’t argue.” Steve shakes his head. “I bet you go on double dates all the time, don’t you?”

“Not double dates, but we hang out sometimes. Usually with a couple others, not all of ‘em couples. Tony and Pepper when they’re in town, Sharon Carter. Hey, now that you’re here maybe you can turn Sharon’s damn-I’m-third-wheeling-hard frown upside down.”

Steve reaches out to shove him, but Sam is quick enough to move away. “Sam, she’s Peggy’s cousin.”

“Didn’t you almost kiss her?” Sam teases. “I swear, it was in, uh, Sousa’s mom’s basement. It was his birthday or something in like eighth grade. Spin the bottle. And instead of kissing her you faked an asthma attack!”

Steve feels his face heat up from more than just the cold or exertion as Sam doubles over with laughter. As embarrassed as he feels, this is nice. It reminds him of walking the small town streets as a kid, his secondhand baseball bat resting on his shoulder, Sam’s battered Detroit Tigers ball cap barely able to fit over his once pride and joy ‘fro. Steve has friends in Brooklyn, sure, but nothing that felt quite as easy as this.

Sam has to go to work, but not before making Steve promise they’ll hang out soon. His wife practically runs Stark Hotel and Resort singlehandedly and Sam suggests they hit the slopes and catch the last bit of snow on the mountains before it melts away. Steve agrees, not seeing any other option, and gets back to his jog. He heads home feeling a lot lighter.

…

Later that day, Steve finds it in him to visit Peggy Carter, his first love and one of his best friends. She’s now the town veterinarian, which isn’t much of a surprise. One of the things he always loved about Peggy is how she finds the wolves just as fascinating as he does. She never judged him for what others referred to as his _obsession_.

Peggy works at a quaint little veterinarian clinic just off Main Street. Before Steve can walk inside, he hears a scream coming from the alley. Being who he is, Steve can’t just ignore it. He runs toward the scream. When he turns the corner, Steve sees Angie, Peggy’s fiancée and Bucky’s stepsister, standing on the hood of her car, crying, “Wolf! Wolf!”

Steve eyes the wolf, one he’s never seen before. It’s missing part of one ear and has the coloring of a lightly toasted marshmallow, nearly blonde. The wolf stops digging through a knocked over trash can with a slice of pizza hanging from of its muzzle and an expression that seems to ask _who me_?

“Get out of here!” Steve shouts. “Go on! Go! Before someone else sees you!”

The wolf just stares at him before readjusting its grip on the slice of pizza and casually walking away. Weird.

“Steve!” Angie shouts. “You saved me!”

Angie jumps at Steve and he reflexively catches her. If anyone can even begin to understand how Steve felt when Bucky disappeared, it’s her. Angie had to be strong for her mother and their youngest sister who was just a toddler at the time. Following that night, when the Barnes family had to bury an empty coffin, Steve made a silent promise to be there, be strong for all of them. If there was anyone who could get him to return home other than his mother, it’s Angie.

The moment he sends her back on her feet, Angie throws her arms back around him in a hug, popping her foot as she does. “Steve! Well, look at you! We heard rumors about you maybe moving back. I had a feeling, but Peg refused to get her hopes up. Now here you are!” Angie frames his shoulders with her tiny hands and squeezes as if to prove to herself that he’s really there.

Steve catches her hand and holds it up so he can see the ring. It’s the ring that used to belong to Peggy’s mom. That ring is all Peggy has left of her family and she’s given it to Angie. “I should be congratulating you, shouldn’t I?”

“Aw, Stevie, did you come all this way to RSVP in person?”

“You bet,” he replies. And she hugs him again. “I actually came by to see if Peggy is free for lunch. What about you? Up for lunch?”

“I would, but I’m heading to the high school. I’ve got a meeting with the music teacher. I’m helping out with the spring production of _Into the Woods_. I’m sure Peg would love to, though. Oh! And we have to do dinner! Maybe we should dine out. Peg and I aren’t the best in the kitchen. You should see Mr. and Mrs. Jarvis shake their heads and take pity on us.”

Angie reaches down to pick up her car keys from the ground. She probably dropped them when she saw the wolf and climbed onto her car instead. She moves to unlock her car, but turns back to Steve as if she’s afraid he might leave again when she isn’t looking. “Don’t disappear without sayin’ anything, alright?”

Steve swallows hard and nods. “Alright.”

He waits in the cold to make sure Angie gets into her car and reminds her to put on her seat belt like a hovering brother would. The bell on the clinic door jingles and the young, dark-haired receptionist’s jaw drops when she sees Steve walk in. Some may consider him attractive, but not even his reflection can stop him from still feeling like that self-conscious thirteen-year-old stick figure.

“Holy hot future husband,” the receptionist blurts out. “I mean, you’re really hot. Yep, I meant to say that exactly. I’m Darcy. What should I call you, good-lookin’?”

“Uh, Steve is fine.”

“He sure is,” Darcy mutters like she just can’t help herself. “How can I help you?”

“I’m looking for—”

Just then, an Asian woman in a white lab coat and a man with a giant mastiff walk out of an examination room. The giant dog drops to the ground at Steve’s feet. The owner tries to usher the dog along, but it refuses to budge.

“That’s funny,” Darcy comments. “He was just fine walking in here. You’d think he’d be happy once it’s all over…”

It may escape her and everyone else, but it doesn’t escape Steve, the way the enormous dog caught sight (and probably scent) of him before crouching down in submission. Steve thinks about the wolf outside. He thinks about the red wolf, the way her head touched his sleeve, the same jacket he’s wearing now. Does he smell like her, like crushed pine needles, the forest after it snows and fresh blood? 

“Honestly, Howard, no, a flamingo is not well-equipped to survive a New York winter…”

_That voice_. He’d know that voice anywhere. Smooth, authoritative, _Peggy_.

She’s well put-together as always, so very professional in a white lab coat, absolute shock on her face quickly replaced with absolute glee. He'd much rather focus on her than the dog owner whispering reassurances to his pet and guiding it outside. “Howard, I’ll have to call you back. Just say no to the flamingo.”

Peggy ends the call and crosses the room to throw her arms around Steve. “Hello, my darling,” she whispers. Steve’s arms tighten around her and for a second, he asks himself how he could ever leave when she’s here. He catches a glimpse of her engagement ring and the joy he feels for his friends obliterates any fleeing what-ifs.

“Hey, Peg.”

Then she punches him square in the chest. Hard. “Where have you been all these years? Angie is going to lose her mind when she sees you!”

“She did. See me. Outside, actually. I ran into her as she was leaving. She hugged me ten times.”

“Only ten? I can beat that.” Peggy pulls him into another tight, warm hug. As he returns the embrace and closes his eyes, it strikes him and not for the first time that he didn’t just leave Marvel and all the bad memories behind, he left a lot people who care about him too.

“Sorry I was gone so long and lost touch,” he whispers.

“That doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re back.”

“Figured I’d start making it up to you by seeing if you’re free for lunch?”

“I already have lunch plans, unfortunately…” Peggy’s face brightens. “But I’m sure she’d love it if you joined us. You two have something in common, actually.”

“I wouldn’t want to intrude,” Steve hesitates.

“Oh, it’s no bother.” Peggy waves away his concern. “Besides, I’ve never known you to turn down an opportunity to talk about _your wolf_.”

Everyone in the reception area hears the teasing in her voice, but only Steve sees what’s under her smile. After all, Peggy had been the one who pointed out that the red wolf is a _she_ and _her_ one afternoon when they were sitting on the tire swing in his backyard. They’d been fifteen at the time and Peggy already knew she wanted to be a veterinarian.

“Dude!” Darcy slams the palm of her hand against the reception desk. “You own a wolf? Like stupidly trying to domesticate a wild animal? Not cool.”

“He doesn’t own her,” Peggy clarifies. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she owns him.” Wait till he tells her what happened the other night… “I’m having lunch with Jane Foster. She’s a research zoologist and our resident wolf expert. Her and her team, including Darcy here—who’s covering the phones since Rose is out sick—are in town studying our four-legged friends.”

“Like tagging them and stuff?” Steve asks, looking between Peggy and Darcy. “Have you figured out where they disappear to during the summer?”

“Radio telemetry, yep, we tried that, but the signals always die out and we find the collars destroyed around the woods,” Darcy explains. “We even tried cameras, but either some local jerks get off on punking us or…” Darcy laughs as she lets that thought trail off because it’s ridiculous, right? The wolves can’t know and thwart their plans. “Which is _your _wolf? The boss lady likes giving them names from Norse mythology.”

“Uh, red-ish fur. Green eyes.”

“A red wolf?” That voice belongs to someone else, a voice filled with equal parts disbelief and wonder. “This is our second winter studying these wolves and we’ve never come across a red wolf. Red wolves range throughout the southeast, not upstate New York, not even Canada. And with green eyes? That's arguably even rarer.”

“Steve,” Peggy says. “Let me introduce you to Jane Foster.”

“Nice to meet you, Miss Foster.”

“Please, call me Jane. Seriously. So, is it a pack of red wolves or just the one?” Jane asks. There’s an intensity surrounding her and her search for answers, for the truth. It’s a little intimidating, but also makes Steve feel comfortable knowing someone else has such a strong interest in the wolves.

“Why don’t we continue this conversation over lunch?” Peggy suggests, reaching for her coat on the rack by the door. Steve quickly jumps to help her into it like the gentleman his mother raised. Jane seems to realize how intense she got for a second and relaxes, reaching for her own coat.

As they rush from the veterinarian clinic to Peggy’s pale yellow car and blast the heater, Steve debates how much he should tell Jane Foster about the red wolf. He doesn’t know what they’re researching exactly and the last thing he wants is for these strangers to turn Red into some sort of science experiment. Then again, he’s always asked himself and Peggy so many questions over the years and Jane Foster might be the only one who can finally give him real answers.


	4. Team Wolf

Jane Foster is inquisitive, passionate, and a literal genius. Not to mention, she loves wolves and knows things about them that Steve wouldn’t even think to ask.

“Are you sure it’s a red wolf and not a coyote?” Jane asks for the third time.

Steve mentally scoffs at the very idea, but doesn’t make a sound. His mom raised him better than that. He can almost imagine his wolf growling at being mistaken for a coyote. “Pretty sure.”

“I can confirm it,” Peggy says. “If I couldn’t tell a wolf from a coyote even from a distance, I ought to have my license revoked.”

They’re sitting at a table in the diner on 2nd Street where Angie worked in high school and would sneak them free drinks and fries. Steve debated how much to tell Jane the entire ride (that lasted all of seven minutes, including two stop lights) and decides to bring his sketches to the table, but no more than that. He planned to show his drawings to Peggy anyway. The way Jane’s face lights as she looks over every drawing tells him her interest in the wolves is completely genuine. 

“You said you saw this wolf just the other day?” Peggy points to a sketch he did of the black wolf, its fur hackled and canines exposed.

“Yeah,” Steve says. “I’ve never seen it before and neither has my mom.”

“I have,” Peggy says. “She’s female too. I found her half-dead on the side of the road last winter. I managed to sedate her, dug four bullets out of her and stitched her up. When I woke up the next morning, she was gone. I haven’t seen her since. It’s good to know she survived at least.”

“You’re sure it’s the same wolf?” Jane asks.

“I’m sure,” Peggy replies. “I could never forget those eyes and the look in them…”

“Interesting. I’ve never seen either of those wolves before.” Jane brings actual printed photographs to the table, laying them side-by-side with Steve’s sketchbook. “We call these guys the Norse pack. The pack patriarch, Odin.” She points to the one-eyed wolf that still haunts Steve’s nightmares even after all of these years. “And his mate, Freida.”

“I never realized how old Odin has gotten, comparing him now to your old sketches,” Peggy muses.

“Traditionally, the core of the pack consists of the breeding pair and their children, which is true with these guys.” Jane flips through her photos until she finds one of a lanky black wolf with large ears and a white wolf that’s nearly golden in the sunlight and four times as big as the first. “These are Odin and Freida’s offspring. The black wolf we call Loki.”

“And the big golden one is Thor, I presume?” Peggy asks.

Jane nods. “Usually when pups are fully mature, they break off from the pack to find a mate and start their own pack. Most of Odin and Freida’s offspring have done exactly that, but not these two. They continue to stick with the pack for reasons we still don’t fully understand. Oh! And we did just found out Loki isn’t actually theirs. He’s part wolf and part wild dog."

“And the pack accepted him?” Peggy asks.

“Odin and Freida raised him as their own right alongside Thor.”

“Bloody hell, these wolves are just as bad as one of Angie’s soap operas she’s obsessed with,” Peggy mutters.

“You should see when lone wolves start encroaching on Norse territory. It's documentary-worthy.” Jane pushes her photographs aside to get a better look at Steve's drawing. “I'm still amazed I haven't seen most of the wolves you've drawn. They're beautiful drawings, by the way, Steve. You're very talented." 

“Thanks. I’ve never gone out into the woods looking for wolves specifically, not since… I just see them from my back porch from time to time. When I was younger I'd climb up onto the roof of our house to wolf-watch, but don't tell my mom that.”

“Fascinating,” Jane says. “I wonder what it is about that area...”

“Maybe Steve could show you some time.” Peggy wiggles her eyebrows suggestively at Steve when Jane isn’t looking. He shakes his head and shoves a French fries into his mouth. It still tastes exactly how he remembers. Crispy on the outside, crispy on the inside, greasy goodness.

“Spring’s coming soon,” Steve says. “What do you do when the wolves leave?”

“Compile research, write about our findings, theorize about where they go when it’s warm out, finagle for funding,” Jane answers. “It’s the strangest thing. It’s like they just disappear. The most logical answer is that they go up north to Canada after sticking out winter here, but we can never find them up there or anywhere and it’s not like they need to migrate because of the weather. Why would they stick out winter here and split when it finally gets warm?”

“Easy,” Peggy says. “Werewolves. They don’t need the fur when the sun’s out. They transform and walk among us.”

Both Jane and Peggy laugh at the ridiculousness while Steve tries to play along and hopes it doesn’t sound forced. Honestly, the thought has crossed his mind, especially when he was younger, reading too much werewolf literature and trying to solve the case of the disappearing wolves himself. The very idea is silly, preposterous, a joke. Steve knows that. Just because their town has a stupid name like those vampire romance novels Rebecca would always read doesn’t mean that shit is even possible. It’s weird to want.

“I have to say I’m glad we ran into each other,” Jane says. “A lot of people like the idea of reestablishing wolf populations in the wild, but the moment they see one in their neighborhood, they’re pulling out their shotguns like the wolves are a problem. It’s nice knowing people who really care about the species.”

“Oh, then you’ve definitely found the right man.” Peggy delivers a swift kick to Steve’s shin under the table. She’s just as bad as his mom and Sam. “In high school, I used to tease Steve that if he wasn’t careful, a girl might think he fancies his wolf more than her.” Peggy and Jane share another laugh and Steve stares down at his plate, feeling his face heat up like they really are back in high school.

“I think you’re doing some real interesting work,” Steve says.

“You’re welcome to come by and see more of the work we’ve done. And I’d love to see more of your drawings.” Jane gently touches the drawing of his red wolf sitting like a sphinx, eyes nearly closed, his hand on the fluff of her coat. “Did you actually get this close?”

“That’s very dangerous if you did, Steve,” Peggy says. And her eyes widen with _and how dare you not tell me about it!_

Steve laughs nervously. “Just wishful thinking.”

A wave of murmurs sweep through the diner as customers and staff alike turn to look out the large glass window at the sight of flashing blue police cars lining the street outside.

“How are you enjoying our small town, Jane?” Peggy asks, ignoring the commotion and sipping her tea. “Where everyone feels entitled to know everyone else’s business.”

“It’s nothing new,” Jane assures her. “Before here, we were in New Mexico for a few years. The locals there got a kick out of trying to pull things out of the ground with their pick-up trucks. If anything, I feel right at home.”

A chilling gust of wind sweeps through the warm little eatery as Jack Thompson and Daniel Sousa walk inside. Steve raises his eyebrows, seeing Thompson in a police uniform. Peggy follows his eyes just to turn her attention back to her tea. No interest in the new arrivals whatsoever.

“Two coffees to go,” Thompson orders, winking at the waitress. “Thanks, sweetheart. It’s as cold as Santa’s balls out there.” The former high school bully doesn’t even notice Sousa’s eye roll, too busy glaring at Peggy and then Steve. “Well, well, well. What do we have here? What is this? The hard-on for furries fan club?”

“Officer Thompson,” Peggy acknowledges him with utmost reluctance. Then smiles kindly at Sousa. “Daniel.”

Jane pulls a face. “Since when do you two hang out?”

“Official business, actually,” Sousa replies.

“Involving the police _and_ fish and wildlife?” Peggy inquires.

Seeing Sousa’s grave expression, Jane’s own fractures as she asks, “Daniel, did something happen to one of the wolves?”

Thompson scoffs. “Jesus. We should be protecting ourselves from those predators! If it weren’t for people like you encouraging those things, maybe what happened…” He kills that line of thought fast. “Like the man said, official business. Be sure to tune in to the news tonight and then tell me how you feel about your precious wolves.”

“Coffee’s ready,” Sousa points out. “This one’s on you, isn’t it, Jack?” Thompson mumbles under his breath and returns to the counter to throw down a few dollars and flirt with the waitress. Once he’s out of earshot, Sousa relaxes some. “You didn’t hear it from me, but it looks like a wolf attack.”

An image flashes through Steve’s head.

The red wolf. Blood on her muzzle. It's like he can still smell it. 

“Here?” Peggy asks. “Right here on Main Street?”

“The alley between the laundromat and the pawn shop,” Sousa whispers. “We got fresh snow last night so I can’t exactly make out any tracks, but the wounds are clearly from an animal and…and it didn’t look like a kill out of hunger, but a kill just to kill.” Sousa pauses, trying to wrap his head around it himself. “We’re about to check any CCTV we can get our hands on. Would you guys do me a favor and keep this between us?”

“Sure thing,” Jane says, just as Peggy replies, “Of course.” Steve nods, not trusting himself to speak.

“And welcome back, Rogers the Robber,” Souza says. 

Steve closes his eyes at his high school nickname. “At least that one was better than Captain America.”

Peggy slaps Steve’s arm. “I quite fancied Captain America!”

“Yo, Sousa!” Thompson shouts, standing at the door with his coffee in hand. “We’ve got work to do!”

“I should go. The least time I have to spent with Thompson the better.” Sousa flashes the table another subdued smile before returning to the counter. “You didn’t even grab my coffee for me?”

Thompson slurps his go-cup. “Hey, you’re lucky I even paid for it, jackass.”

Sousa collects his coffee before he and Thompson take their leave much like their arrival, letting in another gust of wind that dances down Steve’s spine.

“So, Thompson’s exactly the same,” Steve says. "Not that I can say I'm surprised." 

"I'd say his ego grew three sizes since putting on the uniform," Peggy scoffs. 

“It doesn’t make sense,” Jane muses. “Why would the wolves come all the way into town and attack? In the woods, on the outskirts of the woods, on their turf sure—” Steve feels Peggy take hold of his hand and squeeze. “—but in town? Why would they even venture this far into civilization?”

“You’re the wolf expert, you tell us,” Peggy replies. When her phone buzzes, Peggy digs into the pocket of her coat hanging on the back of her chair. “On second thought, tell us in the car. We should be heading back now…”

Once they pay and pile back into Peggy’s car, blasting the heater as soon as the engine starts, Jane turns to Steve who’s crammed into the backseat. “Hey Steve, if you don’t have any plans, would you want to come and meet my team? You might even see some wolves.”

“Absolutely,” Steve replies. “Uh, I have to check in with my mom first. I don’t like leaving her home alone for too long…”

“We could always reschedule,” Jane assures him. “It’s an open offer. Well, you know, until they disappear.”

He gives his mom a call after paying the bill and she tells him to go on ahead like he knew she would. Sarah always worried about how unsocial he was as a child, afraid he would grow too used to isolation. But then he met Bucky and she buried that fear when her shy son was throwing fists at those rich Little League boys who laughed at Steve’s baseball mitt they knew he got secondhand because it used to belong to one of them. Then when they lost Bucky, Sarah was afraid he’d close in on himself. Her worries were put to rest yet again when Sam moved to town.

Steve promises not to be long, but Sarah mentions Sharon being there to keep her company and knowing someone’s with her helps him relax.

That’s how he ends up in Jane’s high-mobility all-terrain vehicle that she looks too comfortable driving. They head to the Fish & Wildlife Visitor Center, which Jane and her team have all, but taken over with Sousa’s blessing. One of the vet techs has the rest of the day free and covers the phones. The news has Darcy falling to her knees thanking every single higher power in existence before calling shotgun and not so subtly staring at Steve.

“Steve meet Erik Selvig, senior researcher and a brilliant professor of ecology and wildlife biology,” Jane introduces them. “I’ve always cared about animals since I was young, but I actually wanted to be an aerospace engineer. Then this man over here,” Jane tilts her head toward Selvig, “brought me into the fold so to speak. I took his class on wildlife conservation and the rest is history.”

“And I am not nor will I ever be sorry,” Selvig says, eyeing Steve with a knowing kind of look he can’t quite figure out. “It just so happened one of my lab assistants dropped out at the last minute and I offered the position to Jane.”

“What kind of studies do you do?” Steve asks.

“Our most notable study was on traumatic stress disorder observed in adult captive wolves,” Selvig replies. “Animals other than humans, subjected to various experimental psychological trauma, often produce behavioral disturbances that resemble human post traumatic stress disorder symptoms. This suggests that common etiological factors may be involved in the development of PTSD in animals and humans and that animals, like humans, can suffer from emotional trauma. We were attempting to apply what we learned to help improve captured and captive wolves and their ability to deal effectively with human presence.”

“Wow,” Steve says, not knowing what else to say. “How exactly?”

“It was mostly hundreds of hours of observation,” Jane says. “Observing the way the wolves reacted to certain sounds, from children running and screaming like they’d maybe hear in a zoo to aircrafts flying overhead and gunshots…” Jane looks down at the ground for a moment, folding her arms. “Parts of it were upsetting. The kind of majorly upsetting that intensified my eternal hatred for capture and captivity verses the need to stabilize wolf populations.”

“So what are you doing with the wolves here?” Steve asks. “Not exposing them to the sounds of children screaming or gunshots, I hope.”

Selvig laughs heartily. “Don’t worry, Mr. Rogers. Everything we do up here is firmly rooted in the naturalistic approach. We’re just observing, never getting too close, ever. Comparing wolves in their natural habitat to those we’ve studied in captivity. There’s a theory that a social, sensitive period exists in wolves up to the first 21 days of life. Wolves who interact with humans during this time can become socialized to people. Without this experience, wolves maintain their natural fear of humans. Adult wild wolves placed into captivity, therefore, remain aloof and distant despite most rigorous attempts to socialize them.”

“We found housing wild wolves in captivity problematic,” Jane continues. “Giving these wolves the quality of life they deserve was difficult given the limited resources and numerous agendas involved. Our study suggested the wolves needed a unique quality of care given they fit the criterial for PTSD and let’s just say we quickly wore out our welcome.”

“Because _someone_ accused the staff of misinterpreting the wolves’ behavior and aggravating ‘em,” a different voice adds. Blonde, stocky, missing a part of his ear. Steve stares at him long and hard, feeling an intense kind of déjà vu though he’s sure they’ve never met before. Steve notices the other man’s hearing aids and quickly averts his eyes.

“It was in the data, okay,” Jane says defensively. “How can they be so blind? One time the head keeper reported ‘WOLF’s behavior was calm’, but the CCTV showed her running away, so obviously not calm. Anyway, currently, we’re here to observe how the wolves locate their home ranges, the types of prey and abundance of prey and levels of human interference, snow condition and how it may be correlated with habitat productivity, social structure, pack structure, specifically how to resolve problems with wolves in the wild rather than by forcing them to adapt in captivity, which clearly brings a whole new set of problems with it.”

“I’m Ronin, by the way,” the blonde says, raising a hand in hello. “Minimal credentials, a buttload’a enthusiasm.”

“Steve.” He reaches out a hand to shake. “Nice to meet you.”

“Jane, it’s about that time,” Ronin points out.

Jane grins at Steve. “So, you want to see the wolves?”

Steve follows Jane on a short hike through the forest to a tall observation tower. She sits with her legs dangling over the edge and Steve carefully sits beside her. Jane takes a peek through a pair of binoculars before handing them over to Steve to look through just as the howling begins. There’s a clearing a few miles away, higher up the mountain where at least a dozen wolves gather, pouncing on each other, cuddling up together, play-fighting and howling. He spots the one they named Thor right away. He's easily bigger than the rest and the one with the loudest, proudest voice.

Jane laughs quietly to herself. “Thor’s our resident showboat. I swear it’s like he knows we’re watching and has to show off.”

“Thank you for today, Jane. Really.”

“Anytime,” Jane says. “I meant what I said. I meet so many assholes like Officer What’s-His-Face. Any fan of wolves is welcomed here anytime. We’ll take all the allies we can get.” She laughs at herself, but something in her eyes says she really means that.

“I’d love to read more about your PTSD study.”

“Sure, I can text you a link to the published article.”

“And, uh, if you don’t mind, I’d like to help. Uh, volunteer if I can,” Steve says. “I don’t exactly have any experience…”

Jane waves off his sheepish confession. “Darcy’s a poli sci major. Ronin, I don’t really know where he came from, but Erik vetted him and he’s occasionally helpful. Sounds like you’d fit right in. I’m sure we could put your artistic talent to use if nothing else.”

“Thank you.”

Steve lines his eyes up with the binoculars again, listening to the wolves sing. He breathes in the cold air high above the frosty forest and lets the sounds surround him. He wouldn’t quite know how to explain the feeling if asked, not in words at least, but the dread he felt the entire time he was driving up to Marvel Falls has disappeared, replaced with something like youthful eagerness to revisit the mystery of the wolves in the woods behind his house. 


	5. The Boy Who Cried Wolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I've been sick. :(

Time passes, the days grow warmer and Steve finds a new routine.

He wakes up, takes care of his mom, hangs out with Sam and Peggy and the people in their lives and studies the wolves. Mostly draws them, learning their distinguishing features and personalities. He hasn’t seen _his_ wolf since his first night home, but it’s not like he could ever draw her quite right anyway. He could never get the color of her fur just right, not back in high school, not in college during boring lectures where he’d doodle in the margins of flimsy notebooks, not his first night back. So he draws the other wolves, some that feel like old friends, others that feel like ghosts, and some new.

Sam arranges for Jane and her team to speak to the local high school about the wolves, educate them so they know how to proceed if they come across one in the wild. Jane asks Steve to do a logo and sign, facts vs. myths posters and an accompanying pamphlet for students and faculty to take home. Darcy supplies all the information and sourly tells him Jane doesn’t trust her to do it herself without using Comic Sans ironically of course.

(And she’s right not to. Darcy totally would.)

Jane tries to pay him, but Steve refuses to take her money. Giving kids the tools not to make the same mistakes he made, mistakes that led to losing his best friend… That’s enough for him. He considers it a public service.

It’s February and chilly out when Steve finds himself in front of his old high school with a telescoping tube strapped to his back and an armful of pamphlets fresh from the printer. The outside of the administration building hasn’t changed one bit and the inside still smells like cheap chemical cleaner and boys who use too much body spray. Mrs. Phillips had been the secretary when Steve would get sent to the office after getting into a fight with a loudmouth bully and she still is. She fawns over him as she gives him a name tag, saying she loved his comic strip in the Bugle and she’s sorry about his mom.

Mrs. Phillips points him to the auditorium. Steve remembers the way and walks there on autopilot. He has to stop at his old locker, the source of many headaches, especially when Thompson would run up behind him and try to shove Skinny Steve inside. It really is terrifying that jerk has a gun and badge now.

Steve reaches the auditorium just in time to catch Jane chatting with the principal. Darcy’s giggling at whatever graffiti she’s found etched into the old wooden arm rests of the old chairs that are definitely the same ones Steve would fall asleep in during uneventful assemblies. Ronin tries to nod along, looking particularly sleepy with his nose practically pressed into his extra large coffee cup.

“Steve!” Jane shouts. “Aren’t you punctual as usual.”

“I try.” Steve shows her the pamphlets and carefully removes the posters from the tube. Turns out she loves both and thanks him for putting in the work. Being unemployed and not exactly looking, he does have a lot of free time. Her eyes lingering on Thor, their decided wolf poster child. Steve did the drawing again and again trying to get the wolf’s confident, larger-than-life presence just right.

“I notice you didn’t draw your red wolf,” Ronin mutters, lifting his side of the poster less than a millimeter for the third time. Jane shakes her head and shouts for him to move it back.

“Yeah,” Steve says, adjusting his side of the poster just a tad lower. “Jane still thinks she might be a coyote and Darcy doesn’t think she exists at all even though Peggy, the only professional vet for miles can vouch for me…” He raises his voice enough for the dark-haired intern to hear though she remains skeptical. “Even with all your surveillance in the woods, there’s still no sign of her and this presentation is all about wolf facts so I thought it’d be better not to…”

“Even though our surveillance _is_ extensive—I’d know I busted my ass puttin’ ‘em all up to the Boss Lady and Old Man’s very specific—“

“And annoying,” Darcy adds.

“—Instructions kinda like now,” Ronin continues, “just because we didn’t catch it doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. Like Big Foot.”

“Get out!” Darcy shouts. “You believe in Big Foot, Ro Ro? Of course you do!”

“Absolutely!” Ronin fires back, craning his neck around to address the ultimate skeptic of the group. “Did I ever tell you about the time I saw the offspring of Big Foot and a Bearded Lady in a traveling circus in Idaho?”

“Freeze!” Jane shouts. “There! Perfect! Darcy, quick! Apply the tape!”

“Applying the tape!” Darcy smooths strips of tape over the poster at the corners. When Steve steps back, he suspects it’s a little high on his side, but as long as Jane’s content then he isn’t going to complain.

“Where’s Dr. Selvig?” Steve asks.

“He had a prior commitment,” Ronin replies. “And he’s sat through this thing a million times. Hell, he used to run these things before happily passing on the chore to Jane.”

“Ronin!” Jane tosses what appears to be a fuzzy wolf costume at him. “Get dressed! And make sure none of the kids see you before the presentation. I want them to be surprised!”

Ronin holds up the wolf costume that smells like mothballs. “How much do I get paid to do this again?”

“You get paid to be here?” Darcy asks with mock outrage.

It isn’t long before high school students start filing into the room. Either kids look younger and younger every year or Steve’s getting old. Sam, dressed in a sweater vest with the collar of his button-up folded over and khakis, clasps hands with him. He gives Steve the hot gossip about all of their old teachers, some of whom are still working at the school.

Steve knows it’s asking a lot for a bunch of teenagers to give a shit or let any adult tell them anything, but Jane proves to be a great public speaker and he hopes her passion reaches at least some of them. The kids go absolutely wild when Ronin jumps out in the wolf costume. The way he runs around the small stage on all fours is so much like an actual wolf. It’s almost uncannily. That probably comes from years of observing wolves, Steve tells himself. Jane walks the audience through what you’re supposed to do when you encounter a wolf and Darcy and Clint act it out.

“Any questions?” Jane asks at the end of the presentation.

A hand goes into the air near the back of the room. Steve recognizes her as his neighbor, the dark-haired girl with dark eye makeup and a dozen bracelets around each wrist.

“What do you do if a wolf acts different?” she asks with a thick accent Steve can’t name.

“Different how?” Jane asks.

“I’ve noticed that some of the wolves around here don’t behave how you say they should. They don’t seem scared or wary of humans at all.”

A silver-haired boy who’d been slumped in his seat, looking bored, suddenly sits up and hisses at the girl in a language Steve can’t identify. She hisses back in the same language and remains planted on her feet. Steve recognizes him too. The silver blur on the baseball team who’d been ahead of the pack on their morning jog.

“Yeah,” another student says. “Your pamphlet says wolves are supposed to be the rarest of all large predator attacks, but I swear we have more wolf attacks in Marvel than literally anywhere else. Why is that?”

“Yeah, and it’s always old rich dudes from outta town getting their throats torn out!”

“It’s a conspiracy!”

Murmurs sweep through the auditorium. Steve realizes he’s sitting on the edge of his seat. Is all of that true? He hadn’t ever looked into it or even thought to look into it. The body the police found in the days after he arrived back in town had been a councilman sneaking off for a winter getaway with his mistress. Steve hadn’t given it a second thought beyond seeing the local news report.

“Alright, kids, let’s settle down,” Sam intervenes. “Miss Foster, please continue.”

“Well, that’s part of why we’re even here, doing this presentation today,” Jane explains. “To spread awareness to not get into situations with wolves that could end badly. The rule of thumb is to always keep your distance, give the wolves space. Even if you believe the wolf’s acting oddly, it’s always important to stay calm and do as we said. Showing respect for wild wolves helps them resume their vital role as apart of our natural ecosystem.”

Watching so many of the students taking his pamphlets from the table near the door after the assembly gives Steve a warm feeling. It might speak more to the success of the presentation and the curiosity about the wolves that Marvel seems to breed, but it still feels good to know he played a role in it. If nothing else, they can color in his black and white wolf drawings to pass the time in class. 

After helping Jane and the team pack up her monster vehicle, Steve ends up in the hallway that houses the school trophy case with Sam. He smiles at the plaque awarding them the baseball state championship and the accompanying photo of the team. Steve finds his younger self dead center with Sam at his side.

“They haven’t won a championship since us?” Steve asks.

“Nope. We were the one and only.” Sam squints into the glass case at their team photo and chuckles. “Damn. I’ve definitely put on weight. And I sure as hell can’t eat soft serve every day like I used to.”

"Remember the first summer I got my Beetle? And you'd make me drive you out to that neon pink ice cream stand so you could flirt with Maria during her work hours." 

“And it paid off! Now I’m the one driving out there when she’s craving black raspberry and pistachio custard. They sell them by the pint now thank God and even do online orders." 

“That old stand’s still there?”

“It’s still there,” Sam says. “It’s where I proposed.”

Steve thinks he saw photos from both of their social media, can’t remember if he “liked” any of them though. He mostly uses social media to promote his art, never shares much about his personal life. That just isn’t his style. Not that there was really much to share these last few years.

“Amazing wife. Baby on the way. Dream job. Sounds like a pretty nice life.”

“It’s iight.” Sam’s grin suggests it’s much more. Perfect perhaps. “Saying goodbye to my bachelor days was easier than I thought. I guess that’s just how you know… What about you, Steve? Anyone special back in the city?”

Steve thinks about Beth, his college girlfriend, her sweet face, soft blonde hair, and huge job opportunity in Los Angeles. He thinks of her face, a mix of anxiety and fear, as she asked him to move across the country with her. _It could be a new adventure for the both of us_, she had said. Steve remembers wanting to agree with her, follow her to the opposite coast, but as he thought about his Brooklyn walk-up, the Beetle he’d have to drive or ship, and his job at the Bugle, he knew it wasn’t the move for him.

(He still checks up on Beth on social media. She’s a little tanner, her hair’s a little lighter and she seems happy. He’s glad.)

“No,” Steve answers. “Not for a while.”

“Good.” Sam rubs his hands together conspiratorially. “I’ve got a long list of eligible bachelorettes who I think would be perfect for you.”

“_Sam_. Cut it out.”

“It’s unavoidable, man. If you don’t tell me what you like, I’ll just gently direct all the single ladies of Marvel Falls your way until one sticks.” It isn’t exactly a threat, but it definitely feels like one to Steve and Sam’s getting way too much fun from it. “Come on, Steve! Gimme something. Hot accent is kinda hard to deliver ‘round here. Blonde? No! Redhead!” Something must change on Steve’s face. Whatever that may be, it has Sam beaming. “It’s settled. Redhead it is.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Aye, it’s my best quality and you know it.”

“Shouldn’t you get back to work?” Steve asks.

“Probably. You’re coming to practice this afternoon, right? The team hasn’t stopped asking about you. Bring your Sharpie. Some of the parents might want autographs.”

Steve shakes his head, but part of him doesn’t think Sam’s joking. “Wouldn’t miss it, coach.”

…

Steve tries his hand at making his mom’s meatloaf for dinner.

Sarah sits at the kitchen table and dictates every step to him. She laughs at every dumb question he has about raw ground beef and adds the recipe to the little notebook she's been putting together so he’ll have them all in one place once she’s gone. Steve tries not to think too hard about it as he combines the ingredients to her exact specifications.

After getting the pan of meatloaf into the oven and the timer set, Steve does a quick Google search of “Marvel Falls” + “wolf attacks.” The results are pretty shocking. It’s just like the kids said. Not all of the people attacked by wolves have died from the attacks, but the two things that all the victims both dead and injured have in common: they’re all wealthy and had been guests at Stark Hotel and Resort.

But that’s easy to explain, right? Stark Hotel and Resort is a luxury winter destination. Just the name “Stark” attracts elite guests who probably aren’t accustom to encountering wildlife. Still… It’s just like Jane asked. Why would the wolves wander this far into town and attack? Before his Google search can spiral into conspiracy, the doorbell rings.

“Ma, I got it!” Steve pulls on the strings of the floral apron wrapped snug around his waist as he goes to answer the door. “Are we expecting company?”

Steve yanks the door open before she can answer. Sharon smiles at him from the welcome mat and he doesn’t miss the way her eyes skirt down to the apron hanging loosely around his neck. He notices she isn’t wearing scrubs under her winter coat like she normally does on an official visit. Instead of her usual equipment, there’s a box in her arms.

“Hey, Sharon. Here, let me help with that.”

“It isn’t heavy at all, but thanks.” Sharon hands the box over to him and she’s right. It doesn’t feel like it weighs much of anything. “That’s, uh, Peggy’s veil. I volunteered to bring it over like the dutiful maid of honor I am. Rebecca is also maid of honor pretty much in name alone. She isn’t even flying in until the week before the wedding. Supportive, but not exactly helpful.”

“That’s our Becks,” Steve says.

“Have you seen her Instagram lately? The university should be paying her for advertising. It makes _me_ want to take out another loan and go back to college.”

Steve chuckles, thinking about Bucky’s kid sister who’s also kind of his kid sister. He was the first person she called whenever she needed a ride, but her mom and Angie were both working. Steve drove her pretty much anywhere she wanted up until she was old enough and Steve taught her to drive. He can’t wait to see her again. It’s been so long.

“Sharon Carter!” Sarah shouts from deeper inside the house. “You better stay for dinner!”

“I wouldn’t want to impose…”

“I was just on my way out, actually,” Steve says. “Sam asked me to stop by his baseball practice. I think mom would appreciate the company.” He gives her a hopeful smile and the nurse doesn’t have to be asked twice, slipping past him and into the house. “Meatloaf’s in the oven. Hopefully it’s edible.”

“I’m sure it’ll taste great!” Sarah argues. “You’re too hard on yourself, Steve! You always have been.”

She may have a point, but he isn’t going to openly agree either.

Steve slips his coat on, kisses his mom on the cheek and bids her goodbye. They do that a lot now, not knowing when the time will finally come.

…

Steve has special memories attached to Stan Lee Park. He remembers sitting on the bleachers all bundled up much like he is tonight, cheering for Bucky and his team, but not too much, careful not to spark an asthma attack. He remembers a lot of high points and low points when he played baseball in high school. He remembers that one time Sam slacked on his offseason conditioning and threw up after their mile run, missing the trash can by steps. The sight and smell was horrendous. Steve hasn’t eaten a single burrito since.

The field hasn’t changed much since Steve was running the bases. A few parents are there to watch, huddling in their winter coats and beneath thick blankets. It’s hard to tell if a team is any good based on practice drills alone. It’s clear who the star is when they have a little simulated game towards the end.

The boy with the silver hair comes up to home plate, tapping his bat against his cleats and pointing out to right field, calling his shot. He ends up hitting a little dribbler down the line, an easy scoop and toss to first for the third baseman, but the silver-haired boy can _fly_. His helmet tumbles off, but he beats the ball to first base. As the inning continues, he also steals second handily and scores at home off a single. He’s impressive and cocky.

“Steve Rogers.” Rhodey walks over to him with a kind if tired smile once he dismisses his players. “Sam actually got you out here to watch practice, not even a real game? I always said you were too nice, man.”

“Rhodey.” They clasp hands. “How’ve you been?”

“Good. So what’d you think of the team?”

Steve tries not to wince. “It’s hard to say before seeing an actual game...”

“You can say they suck. They really suck,” Rhodey says point-blank. “I repeat myself constantly. Every single day. They make the Bad News Bears look like all-star hall of famers. Pietro, the silver-haired short stop, he’s our one saving grace and the kid knows it. I have a migraine just thinking about it.”

“You could always call it quits and I can manage the team,” Sam suggests.

“Over my dead body, Wilson,” Rhodey replies.

Before the two can start bickering, one of the fathers herds a group of boys, some on the team, some younger over to Steve. He puts on a polite smile and listens as one of the kids recaps his championship winning play again. He even poses for a photo and gives them some encouraging words. No one asks for an autograph, thankfully. That would be way too much and way too weird.

After promising Sam and Rhodey he’ll meet up with them for beers at the resort one of these days (“It’ll be fun and piss off Maria ‘cause she can’t join in,” Rhodey laughs), Steve makes his way back to his car. There’s something strange in the chilly air tonight. Something about the stillness makes him feel anxious. He rubs over the bite mark he still has on his shoulder from that night. It feels a lot like that night and Steve for the life of him can’t figure out why.

“Wolf!” someone shouts. “Wolf! There’s a wolf in the parking lot! Wolf!”

A woman screams. Steve throws himself onto the hood of his car on reflex, heart hammering in his chest. He isn’t that little boy who tried to sneak out of house late at night to play with fireworks of all things and got attacked by wolves. He’s much taller, broader, and healthier, but in that one paralyzing second, he feels like he is.

Loud, obnoxious laughter follows. The silver-haired short stop laughs and laughs even as Sam reprimands him with a, “Hey man, don’t you know the story of the boy who cried wolf?”

When he finally comes back to his body, Steve shakily climbs into his car. He wonders if anyone saw him, wonders what that father must think about Rogers the Robber frozen with fear just at the thought of being confronted with a wolf on a night like tonight. He thought he was over it. He thought his fascination with the red wolf and how much time he spends with Jane and her team, asking questions and proposing theories, mean he isn’t afraid anymore. Apparently he was wrong.

…

They don’t give her a mission so she wanders.

In human skin, she’d probably be self-conscious, paranoid that her handlers are questioning her ability to follow protocol, her adequacy, her usefulness. She knows what the Red Room does with things they deem useless…

But as a wolf, a spy with no directive, those kind of thoughts are fleeting, practically useless themselves and discarded just as easily. As wolf, her paws bring her back to _him_, back to the edge of the woods, but she doesn’t dare make her presence known. No closer. Not this time. No more.

The Widows aren’t the only wolves that wander the woods of Marvel Falls.

Asgardians. Widows. The others with their infinite heads.

One of these is not like the others…

Some are born.

Some are bitten.

Some make bad werewolves.

The crash makes the woods tremble. She’s close by when it happens. Instincts tell her to run away, but that little bit of pesky human curiosity has her creeping closer. What was once a single car traveling down a dark road at night is nothing, but scraps of twisted metal now. Broken headlights supply the only light for miles. A wolf—no—human? _What is that_? The creature smells like wolf, but also not. Werewolf, but not. It’s bigger than a bear, covered in coarse fur, and moves on two legs. It has no tail, but the headlights reflect off a metal arm.

What is it? How did it get that way? Had it been born? Had it been bitten?

She doesn’t need to be any closer to know it’s beyond bad. Perhaps even evil.

It’s a thing of nightmares, a werewolf straight out of the most gruesome manmade depiction, but this one’s real.

The werewolf stalks over to the driver’s side of what once was a car. She hears its jaws snap and the sound of fangs shredding through flesh, but nothing else. Otherwise, it’s silent. A heartbeat fades. It moves to the passenger side. Another heartbeat fades. Mission complete.

Wolves don’t have names like humans or domesticated dogs do. To call a wolf by a human name is an insult. But when they do gossip in their human skin, indulge in such a human predilection, she has heard of a boogey man of a werewolf that kills on two legs and has a metal arm. They call it _The Winter Wolf_.


	6. History on Repeat

“Steve, there’s been an accident.”

Steve’s in an old t-shirt and plaid boxers when he sinks down onto the couch next to his mom, eyes glued to the morning news.

Howard and Maria Stark are dead.

The news crew reports from the side of the road. Single car accident. The engine exploded, leaving the bodies almost unrecognizable, but there were two of them, confirmed to be the local billionaires. Stark Hotel and Resort drives the economy of their small town. Some even say the jobs it creates saves Marvel Falls from becoming a ghost town. Now all of that falls onto Tony Stark’s shoulders.

Steve didn’t exactly hang out with Tony Stark growing up, but they were always around each other. It isn’t hard going to the same school in such a small town. The Carters and the Starks have always been linked. Tony will tell you his parents loved and adored Peggy more than him. She’d deny it, of course, smack him for even suggesting it. When Steve started hanging out with Peggy, it meant running in the same circles as Tony and attending the lavishing parties he would throw at his family’s ski resort.

Steve feels strange about attending the funeral, but Peggy brings it up and Angie gives him a look that clearly says, “Stevie, we need to be supportive right now and I’m not standing around alone while English makes small talk with all the fancy pals of her family.” He can’t refuse Angie. The fact that she’s marrying his first love is just another weird footnote of their already weird family history.

Angie worried for nothing because the church is packed with people. It’s easy to get lost in the crowd shuffling around in a fog of shock and grief. Howard and Maria Stark were very important people who made a huge impact on the community. It’s no surprise they’ll be missed and mourned.

Tony Stark is dressed impeccably in suit that easily sets him apart from the small-town folk. He’s thinner than the last time Steve remembers seeing him. Steve hasn’t had the pleasure of meeting Pepper Potts, the woman with her hand on Tony’s back, wearing heels that are probably worth more than his car. He does remember his mom telling him it caused quite a stir in town when Tony promoted his personal assistant turned girlfriend to CEO of the family business.

“Tony.” Peggy draws him into a hug. “Do you really only eat salads and avocado out in Malibu?”

“Trust me, the blue skies, sunshine and contact with the outside world are worth it,” he replies, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “I missed you, Peg. I’m sorry I left you to take care of everything…”

“It’s okay, love.” Peggy smooths her hand in circles on Tony’s back. “You don’t have to apologize for anything. Not to me.”

The sight of them embracing is both sweet and heartbreaking. Tony and Peggy have always had a golden child and annoying kid brother dynamic.

“I’m so sorry, Tony,” Peggy continues. “This is all so sudden. I swear I was just talking to Howard on the phone the other day… He wanted to add flamingos to the resort.”

“Flamingos,” Tony repeats, fighting the threat of tears. He sniffles and turns his attention to Steve and Angie. “Hey. Hi, Future Mrs. Carter-Martinelli-Barnes? Did I get the order right? That’s a mouthful.” Tony and Angie share a quick hug. Then he turns to Steve, openly judging. “Wolf Boy.”

Steve tries not to react to the old unwanted nickname from his childhood. Tony wasn’t the only one to point out how weird it was for him to be so obsessed with wolves, especially after being attacked. With most, “Wolf Boy” was synonymous with freak. Tony was the one who insisted he should wear it as a badge of honor, of survival. Steve just chooses to ignore him like always.

“We should find seats.” Peggy herds both Angie and Steve down the church aisle. “We’ll talk later, Tony.”

“Over drinks after this,” Tony corrects. “I’m not taking ‘no’ for an answer, Peg. The second row is reserved for family. That means you. You should probably go save Sharon from the terribly awkward funeral small talk.”

“Will do.”

…

Steve just hangs back and observes most of the proceedings. It’s hard not to think about his own mom and how he’ll have to go through these same motions. Sarah already planned her entire funeral down to what she’ll be wearing and the food that will be served after. She even paid for everything, wanting it to be a hassle-free affair for her only son.

Steve can’t blame Tony for the way he walks out moments before walking up to the podium to speak about his late parents. Pepper chases after him and Peggy takes the podium herself with a beautiful speech about what Howard and Maria meant to her and what they meant to everyone in the room, in this town.

They hold the reception after the funeral at the resort. It’s an open bar and Tony wants a drink in everyone’s hand when he toasts to his mother and wax poetics about all the good she did, all the good she inspired him to do. Then quieter, with more bitterness toasted to his father. Pepper walks him through socializing and Rhodey never leaves his side. Nearly an hour in, Tony collapses on the comfy armchair to Steve’s right. He takes a long pull from the amber liquor in his glass and his entire body relaxes.

“Well, good news, at least I’ll never have to do this twice, right?” Tony finishes off his drink and motions for a waitress to bring him another. It seems her sole job is to make sure Mr. Stark has a fresh glass in his hands at all times all night.

“Maybe it’d be best to postpone the wedding,” Peggy says.

“No! Nu-uh! No! I object!” Tony shouts. “My parents wouldn’t want you to do that and you know it, Peggy. The old man would reanimate and come back to life and blame me for letting you ruin your wedding.”

Peggy can only nod grimly. She knows it’s true.

“Hey, Banner!” Tony shouts, snapping his fingers at a dark-haired man who spent most of the day standing in the background and being quietly supportive. “Where’ve you been hiding all day? Get over here!”

“I was, uh, around,” he replies.

“Everyone, this is Doctor Bruce Banner, M.D., Ph.D., all around genius, my business associate slash BFF,” Tony says. Then introduces his best friend apparently to the happy couple, Rhodey who’s been like Tony’s shadow all night and finally, Steve as “Wolf Boy” once again.

“You’re Steve Rogers?” Banner asks. “_The_ Steve Rogers?”

Steve rubs his face, mostly upset his day of anonymity has come to an end. “Honestly, I even prefer Wolf Boy over Captain America or Rogers the Robber.” Going off of Banner’s confusion, the man who didn’t grow up with them has no idea what he’s talking about. “The high school baseball state championship? Ask anyone around here and that’s my claim to fame. No?”

“Uh, no, but congratulations?” Bruce’s voice goes higher as it tails off as if he’s unsure of what he’s even congratulating him on. Not a baseball fan. Noted. “Actually, uh, Tony told me about how you survived a wolf attack when you were younger.”

The already sullen atmosphere turns tense in record time. Peggy squeezes Steve’s arm and Angie openly glares at the man who made it even clearer he isn’t from around here.

“Jesus Christ, Bruce.” Tony snorts into a fresh glass. “And everyone says _I_ lack tact.”

“No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” Bruce finally realizes what a blunder he caused, finally feeling the newfound tension in the already tense room of misery and mourning. “You’re right. This isn’t the place or time. I apologize if I offended anyone.”

His awkward yet sincere apology does nothing to alleviate the tense silence.

“It’s okay, Brucie.” Tony clasps him on the shoulder. “Funerals are supposed to be weird. If we’re talking around death so much, why not talk about life, those on the brink of death that somehow, against all odds, survive?”

“Tony,” both Pepper and Peggy hiss scary identical warnings.

“He doesn’t have to say anything,” Tony continues. “He’s good at that. If you’d be so kind to enlighten all of us, how did you do it that night, Rogers? Even if you got attacked by wolves on one side of Kirby River and managed to drag yourself across the old train tracks, your house is still a ways away. Weighing what? Ninety pounds, bleeding all over the place in deep, untouched snow with wolves everywhere? How does that work? Where’s the logic in that?”

Steve closes his eyes and tells himself to calm down. This isn’t the time or place to cause a scene. Then the strangest thing happens.

Images flash behind his eyelids—wolves running free, a flash of silver, a boy near death being dragged through the snow, an enormous wolf howls. It sounds full of regret. Mourning.

The bite on his shoulder from all those years ago suddenly aches and burns. Steve’s glass slips from his hand and hits the floor.

“Shit,” Steve curses under his breath, blinking rapidly.

“Steve, you look quite flushed,” Peggy says. “Why don’t you get some air? Angie?”

“Yeah, good idea. C’mon, Stevie.” Angie slips her arm under his and guides him to his feet. If she steps on Bruce’s toes as she ushers Steve through and away from the group, well, at least she mutters a completely insincere, “Oops, sorry.”

Tony mutters incomprehensibly beneath his breath and finishes off his drink. He snaps his fingers and his personal cocktail waitress scrambles to clean up the broken glass on the floor.

Steve thinks to apologize and help, but can’t. His ears are ringing and he’s suddenly sweating profusely. The room feels too warm and too crowded and he clings to Angie harder than he means to. It feels like everyone is looking at him with pity or like he really is a freak like they used to say he was. Steve mumbles an apology or maybe an excuse beneath his breath as Angie gently pushes him through a set of double doors and out into the cold night air.

“Can you believe the nerve of that guy just casually bringin’ up that night like we didn’t lose our brother!” Angie kicks the door shut with her foot hard enough to rattle. “As if losing Bucky was besides the point he was tryin’a get at when it changed _everything _for us.”

Steve presses his palms to the icy deck railing and breathes in the cold air. “I don’t remember what happened that night… I don’t know how to answer any of Tony’s questions. I remember being bitten and Bucky falling and then nothing… Angie, I swear…”

“I believe you.” Angie wraps her arms around his waist. “And I don’t blame you. Hell, if I were you, I wouldn’t want to remember neither.”

Steve wipes his wet palm against his slacks before wounding an arm around Angie, leaning into her and the infinite comfort she has to offer. He inhales the fresh scent of pine trees and feels the cold all around him, feels the sting of it against his palm still pressed to the railing and Angie’s body heat pressed against him. He uses all of this to try to ground himself in the present. It’s a little easier to breathe outside, but his scars throb. A phantom pain of sorts. A reminder to respect the wolves, a gift from the alpha Jane named Odin.

“Steve? Angie? What are you guys doing out here? It’s freezing!” Sam blows hot air onto his bare hands cupped around his mouth and makes his way toward them.

“Just needed some air,” Steve replies. “Are you here to pick up Maria?”

“Yeah…” Sam’s voice trails off distractedly. His eyes are glued to the full moon hanging overhead. There isn’t a single cloud in the night’s sky. It’s haunting. So is Sam’s expression. Something isn’t right.

Angie senses it too and asks, “Everything okay, Sam?”

Sam blinks as if just remembering where he is, shoving his cold hands deep into his pockets. “No. I was just thinking… I just got a call from the principal about Pietro.”

“The silver-haired short stop?” Steve asks.

“Yeah. He’s missing. His sister, Wanda, the girl at the assembly that asked Jane the question about wolves around Marvel Falls not acting like normal wolves? Well, their foster mom said Wanda came home hysterical, covered in blood, saying something about the wolves. She…She said the wolves took him. She said the wolves took Pietro.”

…

If we aren’t careful, history repeats itself. If we are careful, we can tip the future in our favor.

That’s one of the first lessons she learned when she began this new life on four legs and moving unnoticed among the humans on two, serving a greater purpose. She treads through the woods carefully tonight. There’s something amiss in the air. It feels a lot like that night so long ago. She wonders if the human can feel it too.

She’s kept her distance from _him_, a self-imposed exile, a necessity with what that bitch thinks she knows and the young new Widow that’s been shadowing her. She can still sense him though, trace his movement through town. Sometimes he comes home smelling like other wolves and it tugs at a deeply ingrained instinct in her to guard her resources, protect what matters to her from rivals.

Her ability to think beyond instinct, calculate her moves before making them, sets her apart from others that may look like her, but aren’t like her. She’s smarter. She keeps her distance to keep herself safe. She keeps her distance to keep both of them safe.

She still senses him though, can practically feel his heartbeat from miles away. It’s erratic tonight. She closes her eyes and sees flashes—a glass shattering, liquor splashing on old, worn shoes, him tossing and turning, restless in his bed.

A sound just outside his bedroom window has her on high alert. It sounds like scraping metal.

She thinks about the werewolf with the metal arm and then all of a sudden she isn’t thinking. She speeds through the forest, zigzagging through trees, hurdling logs and leaping over streams to get to him. There’s no keeping him safe if there is no him.

By the time she reaches the house she’s visited too many times, she sees the boy—the man—out on his back porch in the middle of the night and not even properly dressed for it. _Fool_.

There’s no hiding from the moon tonight. It’s full and bright and illuminates all.

A skin and bones white wolf that looks almost silver beneath unobstructed moonlight stands between her and the human. It whimpers and stumbles, disoriented. A new werewolf if she had to guess. Introduced into this new life on a night so much like the night she first met the human. But to whom does this new pup belong? No one appears to be here to claim it. It has to be a mistake. Just like she was.

Like the senseless creatures these humans can be, he takes a step toward the clearly unstable wolf. “Pietro?”

Something, maybe that word (what the hell is a Pietro?) or his own body and brain chemistry changing before their very eyes, triggers the silver wolf’s fight or flight response. He chooses fight and lunges for the human. She doesn’t even think before darting forward. He’s fast, but she’s more skilled and experienced, more comfortable in this body. She collides with the silver wolf, knocking it off its path before it could get too close to her human.

_Her human_.

She picks herself up quicker than the other wolf, crouches low and flashes her canines with the human at her back. She doesn’t stop to ask herself why she’s so willing to be his shield. She just acts. The silver wolf whimpers and limps before fleeing into the darkness at a break-neck speed. She waits until she can no longer sense the frantic fledgeling wolf and turns her attention to her stupid, _stupid_ human.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

As if a newly turned pup could hurt her. Idiot man. He should know better than to doubt her, especially after what she did for him that first night they met.

The moment he reaches out for her as if to pet her or check for injuries maybe, she runs back to the shadows where it’s safe. Something that feels like hurt flits through her and she doesn’t know how, but she knows it’s him. She feels what he feels, but it only lasts a moment. Still, it’s enough to make her stop just at the edge of the bushes and look back at him.

He’s so beautiful and so stupid.

She blends into the darkness, but doesn’t stray too far, not before making sure he goes back inside and locks the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me, all! The next chapter is all about Nat in human form and a good dose of pregnant!Maria !


	7. The Change

In the spring, the sun returns and the snow melts away.

In the spring, the wolves disappear.

In the spring, she transforms. They all do.

The Change comes with the worst pain she’s ever felt in her life. Her fur falls out, bones rearrange, claws retract, skin twists and stretches. She’d been trained to endure unimaginable pain and even torture, but nothing can prepare anyone for this kind of pain. Her first time experiencing The Change, she thought she was dying. She thought all the sweet talk about a better existence and higher purpose the Widows fed her were their way of offering her some kind of comfort before a painful death. Then it all just stopped.

Just like it stops now.

Her eyes open. In fur, red and yellow are all that matter. Red like blood. Yellow that marks territory. That’s all.

(And for her, the blue of her human’s eyes, but that isn’t something she’ll admit.)

In human skin, she notices other colors too. Sunlight filters through the thick, green canopy of trees overhead. The sky is blue beyond it. Her skin is smooth and porcelain if caked with dirt. Her red hair is a nest of tangles and snarls. She allows herself a moment to feel the earth beneath her and listen to bird chirping in the distance. She allows herself a moment to herself, a moment to belong only to herself because once she starts moving, she’s theirs.

Human legs always take some getting used to. She points her toes, flexes her arms and legs, rotates crackling joints. It doesn’t take her long to find her bearings as she makes her way to the Red Room’s underground bunker. She needs to be quick about it before any of the local hunters see and report a redheaded woman running naked through the woods.

The first order of business is a shower. She finds her locker easily enough. It’s the one with _slut _written across it. For all their talk of hating humans and being the superior species, her fellow Windows sure do act like catty high schoolers most of the time. She digs through her locker, changes into some old clothes, conceals the weapons on her person and finds her identification.

_Natasha Romanoff_.

She has _bangs_ in the driver’s license photo.

_Fuck_.

The Manor isn’t a far walk from the bunker. It’s the second largest piece of private property just on the outskirts of Marvel Falls. The largest belonging to Stark, but that lavish monstrosity is in a league of its own. The Manor is more secluded, colder and surrounded by a twenty-foot high iron gate that requires a passcode to open.

She invites herself in through the front door, her boots clicking against freshly waxed floors. In one room, young girls are being instructed in the art of ballet. In another, grade school age children take turns throwing knives at human-shaped targets. In yet another, a man lies dead on the floor in a pool of his own blood. Years ago, before her graduation ceremony, she would have been one of the pups sent to clean up the mess under the threat of whipping if even a trace of blood could be found by even an amateur crime scene analyst. She’s risen much higher in the ranks since.

“Natalia,” a voice drawls over her shoulder.

Dottie.

The woman with secrets kept not so securely behind her voids for eyes approaches with a spring in her step. The Head Bitch of the Widows if there ever was one. The Original Widow, they call her. Natalia knows to tread lightly, especially after what happened, how she let a human close enough to touch and Dottie saw everything.

“Madame B’s perfect little pet reporting for duty,” Dottie drawls. “A little _late_, though. Seems like someone’s making a habit of that.”

“At least I’m not Leviathan’s bitch,” she retorts. Her voice sounds strange to her ears after so many months of inactivity.

A cunning smile curls at Dottie’s lips. “Of course you aren’t. Alexei is.”

“Obsessed with me, aren't you?” a deep, masculine voice rumbles.

Alexei Shostakov. He’s easily the biggest, not to mention cockiest and hairiest of all of the werewolves she’s ever known. Over the years, he’s never been afraid to show his interest in whoever he deems the strongest Widow. Becoming his mate wouldn’t elevate her status in the Red Room. It would merely lead to her getting fucked over. Literally.

“When you’re all done fucking around out here, Madame wants to see all of you.”

A small blonde girl eyes them like they’re all unworthy of their ranks. Yelena. Her confidence is astounding especially for someone who looks like she belongs in a high school classroom, nowhere near their ranks.

“Aw,” Dottie coos, sure to shoulder into Yelena, nearly knocking the fairly new Widow on her ass. “What a big bark for such a baby wolf.”

Yelena’s eyes flash gold. Alexei chuckles, wanting to see a fight. 

Natalia rolls her eyes. Such little self-control. All three of them. Hardly worth her time.

Madame B controls every aspect of the Red Room from giving out assignments from the higher-ups to overseeing training and the progress of their newest recruits. She was already comfortable in her role when Natalia first staggered through the front door, merely a pup, wide-eyed, barefoot, knowing they were her best chance to stay alive.

“Alexei, Dorthy, you’re needed in Manhattan.” Madame B hands the dark-haired operative a file with the details of their mission inside. They’re expected to memorize all the information and burn the evidence, a task which will fall on Dottie’s shoulder exclusively. Alexei is purely muscle. They only ever send him to the city when they need a target to die a slow, painful death and he delivers every time.

“And my mission, Madame?” Natalia asks.

Madame B doesn’t even look up from her stack of paperwork. “You’ll be working locally. Intel-gathering.”

Natalia nearly growls, but restrains herself. “Babysitting?”

Yelena and Dottie barely hide their desire to laugh behind her back. She can practically feel their amusement. It makes her skin crawl.

“You’re all free to leave,” Madame B orders.

Dottie nags Alexei all the way to the door and he definitely tells her to shut up and calls her a bitch. Not particularly surprising for them. Natalia remains in place, back straight, head held high, absolutely seething beneath the surface, but like hell she’s going to show it.

“Madame, don’t you think my skill set could be better used elsewhere?” Natalia pushes.

“Perhaps,” the headmistress drawls. “Tell me, Natalia, after your last mission, you failed to report back and debrief in a timely manner. You disappeared. Why? Where did you go? Answer me this and perhaps I will put in word with the higher-ups and have you reevaluate and reassigned a summer assignment worthy of your talent.”

Natalia stays quiet. She can’t tell the truth. She’d die first. She’d die for it.

Madame B makes a knowing little sound deep in her throat and slides Natalia her own folder. “Very well. You have your assignment. Leave.”

Boring. Embarrassing. Insulting.

“Yes, Madame.”

Natalia takes the folder and flips it open. It takes all of her training to school her face and disguise the jolt of shock. Inside is a photo of _him_.

The boy. The man. _Her_ human.

His name is _Steve_.

“Handsome, no? The target has made repeated contact with those researchers. We can’t touch the women, the oldest Asgardian pup has practically scent marked them. We don’t need that trouble. And the other one, well, we know what he is and who he protects. This new mark is an in. Get to know him by any means necessary, find out what he knows, what they know. I want a threat level assessment. The last thing we need is a fan club exposing what we are and what we do.”

“Timeframe?” Natalia asks.

“As long as it takes or until we need you for something else. We’ll let you know.”

Translation: they want her occupied with something stupid and frivolous while they assess the new batch of Widows and weigh the pros and cons of replacing her.

“Thank you, Madame.”

Natalia tosses the file into the fireplace, but not before pocketing the photo of Steve Rogers with his short blonde hair, bright eyes and kind smile. She walks through the double doors of Madame B’s office and finds Dottie waiting for her.

“Got an interesting assignment, Nattie?”

God does she hate that nickname.

“Not particularly, _Dorthy_.”

“I’d switch with you. Being holed up in some cheap, filthy hotel in the city with Alexei sounds like a crime scene waiting to happen. if I don’t blow my brains out, I might blow out his.”

“Won’t be the only thing you’re blowing,” Yelena mutters. And finds herself on her back on the floor in less time than it takes to breathe. Dottie straddles the smaller girl, pinning her to the floor. She waves her fingers and they watch with wide eyes as her hand grows larger and harrier, fingers sharpening into claws.

Pop culture might have gotten a few things right about werewolves, but some are flat out wrong. They often share a good laugh over how wrong. They aren’t ruled by the moon, but the seasons. The cold triggers The Change and they’re allowed to return to two feet when the sun returns. To fight The Change is to fight nature. Werewolves who defy nature and force themselves to shift even just the slightest bit like Dottie now are reckless and damned.

“I should slit your pretty little throat right now,” Dottie practically sings, excitement dancing in her eyes. “But then who will do all my chores?” Dottie lifts Yelena up like she weights nothing and throws her across the hallway. The young girl crashes into a large old oil painting and collapses on the cold floor. “Let me remind you of your place, pup.” Dottie kicks Yelena onto her back and presses her boot to her throat. Yelena growls and squirms, but Dottie’s too strong, immovable. “You aren’t a full-fledged Widow yet. You serve us. I could kill you right now and Madame B will have another just like you doing her bidding, disposing of your worthless body and doing my laundry. Show some respect, bitch.”

Dottie kicks Yelena and she goes tumbling down the length of the hallway. Natalia has enough of this display of dominance that’s really just Dottie entertaining herself and starts to leave.

“Nattie, wait! I wasn’t done talking!”

“Are you ever?” Natalia retorts.

Dottie doesn’t answer right away. She takes her time walking up to Natalia on the fronts of her feet, slinking really. She moves the exact same way when she’s a wolf stalking her prey. “Like I was saying, I’d switch with you, but I know what a stickler you are for the rules, aren’t you, Natalia? Even as a pup, you were the best student. You never asked questions, just did what you were told. It makes me wonder what could possibly make such a loyal, faithful doggie go against everything she was taught and break the rules?”

Dottie already knows the answer. Natalia already has broken the most important rule. Even more alarming, Dottie knows the exact human she broke the rule for and where he lives.

“Well, have fun stuck here all summer,” Dottie says sweetly. “I’m sure you’ll find loads of fun things to do.”

Her eyes gleam with the power secrets afford. As much as Natalia would like to rip the bitch’s throat out and make Yelena mop up the mess, she calls on all of the strength her training affords her and keeps walking. 

…

Her third stop is Stark Hotel and Resort.

It’s an upscale vacation destination with the winter slopes and summer water sports drawing in the majority of the tourism. The Stark name doesn’t hurt either. The bar and grill right in the hotel lobby draws in visitors, but also a steady crowd of locals. Natasha has met and gotten to know many of them more and more every time she drifts into town in the warmer months. She’s built an air-tight, well-rounded summer persona that includes friends and a resume full of rave references.

“Well, look who’s back. Miss me, sweetheart?”

She wrinkles her nose at the smell of gun powder, cheap cigarettes and toxic masculinity. Luckily, open annoyance is Natasha's go-to facial reaction. Her summer persona hates this asshole just as much as the wolf in her does.

“Rumlow, do we pay you to chat up women who know they can do better than you?” an authoritative voice asks.

He scowls. “I was just on my way to do inventory, boss.”

“Good. Go. Now. Leave.”

Maria Hill-Wilson shoos away the scruffy bartender who skulks off reeking of emasculation. The hotel manager's usual scent of Stumptown coffee and stress has been replaced with cocoa butter, stress and something sweeter. The reason for the change becomes abundantly clear when Natasha looks down and sees Maria's large, pregnant belly. 

“Ugh, aren’t you glad you never slept with that?” Maria asks.

“You say it like there was even a chance I would. I’m a little offended.”

“No, you’re right. It’s Daisy who has the shit taste in men. Ward was the worst.”

Ward’s also a werewolf, but Maria doesn’t need to know that.

“Maria, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’re like _super_ pregnant.”

Natasha—because that’s who she is in this world, who she becomes to blend in—hugs (ugh, such strange human rituals) the woman who's kind of one of her best friends in town. They first met when Natasha was tasked with learning everything she could about the Stark property and their daily operations. To do that, she applied for a job as a waitress and later bartender. Maria was concierge at the time and climbed her way up the management ladder. Now she practically runs the place and doesn't mind turning a blind eye for friends. 

“Yeah, well, it’s too late to pull out now.” Maria drops her hand to her swollen stomach. “And I swear to God it’s like everyone I know makes it a point to stop in and drink in front of me because they know I can’t and think they’re getting back at me for some shitty thing I did in the past.”

“That has Rhodes written all over it. Also the definition of karma. Ow!”

It doesn’t actually hurt when Maria smacks her arm, but she has to play her part.

Maria sighs and blows a strand of hair away from her face. “Mostly, I miss caffeine and seeing my feet.”

“Maternity leave is going to be _fun_ for you.”

“It would be a lot more fun if you were around to spy on everyone for me.” Maria moves to sit at the bar and kicks her flats off with a wince. “Let me guess, you’re looking for a summer job and a place to stay. Christ, why can't you just agree to stay here full-time, year-long and save all of us some time?" 

Natasha rolls her eyes. They’ve had this conversation too many times before. 

“Uh, maybe because I don’t want to be a bartender for the rest of my life,” Natasha argues.

“Great! Transition into hotel management. I’ve seen you break up bar fights and mediate between senseless drunks. Your people skills are off-the-charts for someone who hates people as much as I do. I’m just saying. You clearly enjoy it here. Marvel Falls is a frankly stupid name for a town, but it isn’t a bad place to live.”

“As long as you don’t mind digging your car outta the snow in the winter and wolves runnin’ wild.” Sam slides an arm around his pregnant wife and presses a kiss to her head. “Mostly, my wife just wants more people to boss around.”

“Happy wife, happy life,” Natasha says with mock cheer. “Right, Wilson?”

“Oh, no one knows it better than me.” Sam takes Maria’s scolding of a smack like he knew it was coming and drags Natasha into a hug. She hugs him back, of course, hiding her slight confusion and bewilderment. After being a wolf for so long, never being touched (other than that time with her human, with _Steve_), something as simple as a hug can be a shock to the senses. 

“Sam,” Natasha says. “I see you’ve been busy.”

He chuckles, dropping his hand over Maria’s belly. “You bet. If we’re gonna have a big family, we better get started.”

Maria rolls her eyes. “Quit telling people that! We agreed to see how this first one goes and then we’ll make other decisions from there.”

“Absolutely, babe.” Sam leans toward Natasha and loudly whispers, “I want a whole pack.” He falls back onto his heels, taking steps back until he’s out of Maria’s smacking range. “Anyways, I’d stay and chat, but we’ve got a search party combing the woods for a missing kid, one of my students actually.” Sam’s good mood nosedives into something darker and more solemn. “It’s been a few weeks now. Police pulled out, but I’ve got a small group of volunteers. I’ll be back tonight, though. I’m buying everyone a round on me. Will you be around later?”

Natasha turns to Maria. “Depends how well or poorly my interview goes.”

“Please.” Maria snorts. “Like you actually came prepared with a resume. I bet you just assumed you could show up here and I’d give you the job and your old room.”

“Will you?” Natasha bats her long eyelashes just a little.

“That shit might work on my husband, but not me,” Maria says firmly. Natasha pouts and it makes Sam chuckle, especially since he knows it’s working. “Actually,” Maria relents, “I’ll get you checked in to your old room _if_ you start tonight. Closing shift.”

“Damn!" Sam shouts. "Maria, it’s the girl’s first day back and you’re already putting her to work?”

“We’re shorthanded and it’s spring break.”

“I’ve got it covered, boss,” Natasha says.

“Good. You’re hired.”

“Okay then, I will see you ladies tonight.” Sam kisses Maria quick on the cheek and ruffles Natasha’s hair in an annoying older brother kind of way that would result in him losing a hand if she weren’t so committed to her cover and in control all the time. “Aye, Nat, don’t go anywhere before I introduce you to my buddy, alright? He not-so-secretly likes redheads.”

“Steve has explicitly asked you not to do that!” Maria shouts at his retreating back.

“What was that, honey? I didn’t catch that last part!” Sam flashes his contagious grin at them. “I love you!”

Maria complains about her husband, but fondness easily bleeds through the annoyance. She really does love him, but might seriously draw the line at one or two children. Natasha pays no attention to whatever Maria mumbles under her breath, a poor attempt to maintain her hardass boss image. Only one word stood out from that entire exchange.

_Steve_.

She’s just slipped back into this skin and already her target is being led to her like a lamb to the slaughter. Just as she thought, this mission is beneath her. Still, she doesn’t let any of this show. She keeps her real thoughts and emotions hidden behind the mask that is Natasha, laughs and jokes with Maria, and prepares to meet her human face-to-face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't even realize I was writing slow burn, but I guess some things never change, huh? Steve and Natasha meet face-to-face next chapter! Finally!


	8. Meeting

They’ve combed through as much of the forest as they can for over two weeks and there’s still no sign of Pietro.

Steve volunteers his time every time Sam asks even though he isn’t sure their wandering around the woods and planting little marker flags is doing any good. Less than twenty-four hours after Pietro was reported missing, search and rescue dogs found his clothes torn up and soaked through with blood, but no body. His sister had doubled down on her belief that wolves had been to blame, that they took her brother.

But took where? And why?

From what Steve remembers from that night, the wolves weren’t trying to take him anywhere. They were rightfully protective of their territory and —though he doesn’t know why he thinks this—hungry. Desperate. He doesn’t try to revisit that night often, but on difficult nights when he needs answers, when he thinks of the Alpha—Odin as Jane calls him— and his eyes, Steve can convince himself he saw regret in them just before tearing through to his flesh.

“Hey, man.” Sam taps him on the shoulder with a closed fist. “Hungry?”

Steve smiles tiredly. “Starving.”

They grab cheeseburgers from their favorite spot when they were kids and Sam convinces him to drive up to the Stark Hotel and Resort for a beer. He calls his mom before he agrees to anything and she would probably lock him out of the house if he tried to pass up spending time with his friend.

Steve hasn’t been up to the resort since the reception after Howard and Maria Stark’s funeral. He’d actually been going out of his way to avoid Tony until Peggy told him Tony and Pepper flew back to take care of business on the west coast. That’s one thing Steve has in common with the hotel heir. Both of them couldn’t wait to get away from Marvel Falls as teenagers. A lot of kids feel that way growing up in small towns, but the two of them actually followed through, left and only look back for family.

“Did you hear about Stark sponsoring a blood drive?” Steve asks as they make their way through the lobby. The bar seems a little more crowded than normal. The chalkboard of specials near the door reminds him it’s spring break. Great.

“Yeah, they do it every year,” Sam answers. “Maria usually gives blood, but not this year. The baby needs all the nutrients and goodness they can get so mommy volunteered daddy’s veins this time around.”

“Ew,” a smoky female voice throws their way. “Are you going to refer to yourself as ‘daddy’ all the time now that you’re actually going to be one?”

“Natasha!” Sam waves and leads Steve over to the bar and that voice he swears he’s never heard before and yet…forces a full body reaction from him. “To answer your question, uh, absolutely! And hey, this is the friend I mentioned earlier. Steve Rogers.”

Steve cringed, embarrassed, even though he really shouldn't be surprised that Sam mentioned him to her before. Knowing Sam, he did it in the most direct, embarrassing fashion, but all of that ceases to matter when he finally gets a good look at her. 

She's beautiful. Every part of her is beautiful from her full figure to her vibrant red hair, but it's her eyes that make Steve stop in his tracks and lose his train of thought. Her eyes are so alluring and green, unlike any pair of eyes he's ever seen before. 

Well, that isn't exactly true. There’s one other…

“Hi,” Natasha says.

And Steve finds he can’t speak. Nothing comes out of his mouth. Nothing at all. He just stares at her. He stares at her so long, Natasha has to look away and shifts her weight from one foot to the other. Great. He made her feel uncomfortable. Say something, Rogers!

Sam laughs to break the silence and smacks Steve hard on the back, a g_et yourself together, man, you’re crashing before the plane even takes off!_ smack. “Steve and I have been friends since we were little dumbass kids runnin’ ‘round, terrorizing the neighborhood.”

“That long, huh?” Natasha asks.

Sam shakes his head. “Steve, Natasha comes up here every spring break and stays for the summer, mixing drinks, hustling tourists. Tash, do the thing! Do the thing!”

She rolls her stunning eyes and leans across the bar. The low cut of her shirt gives Steve a great view of her cleavage. He realizes how low his eyes have strayed and his attention snaps right back to her eyes and her hair that’s a perfect match to—

Mid-thought, Steve gets distracted once again when Natasha starts to juggle three liquor bottles with ease. Other bar patrons notice and start to cheer her on. There’s an easy smile on her face full of fun and confidence, but her eyes are pure concentration. The little show comes to an end as she flips over a bottle of tequila, pours a shot and sets it down in front of Steve. She doesn’t spill a single drop.

“Impressive,” Steve says, finally finding his voice. Tequila isn’t his go-to choice of liquor, but he has manners, he’ll drink whatever she puts in front of him. He takes the shot glass and tips it to her. “Cheers.”

Steve knows it’s rude to stare. He finally has enough self-awareness to know he’s staring. His mom would smack him upside the head if she saw him right now, but he can’t stop. The lighting is dim, probably in an attempt to set the mood and the room is smoky and Natasha seems hellbent on avoiding eye contact, but he knows what he saw when he first laid eyes on her. He starts to bring the glass to his lips just to distract himself and maybe relax, but her hand darts out, her fingertips pressing firmly into his knuckles to stop him.

“Wait,” Natasha says. “Ever had tequila before, _Steve_?”

She says his name like there’s something particularly amusing about it when it’s so common, boring even. She says his name like she knows a secret about it, about him, and Steve doesn’t know what it means, but he wants to.

“Can’t say I have.”

“Boy, you are in for it.” Sam laughs.

“It’s cheap and sharp,” Natasha warns him. “Salt and lime are customary.” She takes his free hand and gives the back of it a quick swipe of her tongue while meeting his eyes. Steve pretty much malfunctions on contact. Natasha shakes a bit of salt onto the back of his hand like she didn’t just turn the entire universe upside down with the flash of her tongue. “Salt, tequila, then the lime. Got it?”

“Got it,” Steve mutters, feeling drunk without even a sip of alcohol. Natasha watches him expectantly. Steve tries to focus on the task at hand, but as he licks the salt off his hand it’s hard not to think about how her tongue was there first. He tosses back the tequila, which _burns_, and Natasha shoves the lime in his mouth before snapping a picture of him with a Polaroid camera.

Sam roars with laughter and drums his hands on the edge of the bar. The room spins as Steve winces and bounces on his feet, gripping the edge of the bar. Natasha slides the Polaroid over to Sam, who can’t stop laughing. If he laughs any louder, Maria will definitely wander over from the front desk and scold them, but not before laughing at him too.

“Wow,” Steve says dumbly. “Thank you. Thanks for that.”

Natasha shrugs coolly and even that small movement reminds him of his wolf. She pours him a beer from the tap and pushes it in front of him like a kind of peace offering. Steve doesn’t even ask what it is before taking a sip, anything to save him from having to speak anymore.

“Yup, this is a keeper.” Sam holds out the mostly developed photo for Steve to see. His brows are furrowed, forehead creased and he looks like he might cry or puke. Sam pulls his phone out and takes a picture of the Polaroid. Before Steve can steal it away, Sam hands it back to Natasha so she can admire her handiwork. Sam’s phone rings before he can text it to all of their friends and he excuses himself to answer it.

“So, _Steve_…” There she goes again, saying his name like that. "You don’t seem like the typical spring breaker.”

He laughs, cursing how hot his face is. He’s quick to blame the tequila. “No, not at all. I’m Marvel born and raised. I just moved home a few months ago. Currently unemployed and living with my mom.” Suddenly, he’s grateful for the tequila as an excuse for why his face is so hot. “And I’m making a fantastic first impression.”

“I’m a bartender living out of a hotel room, Steve. I don’t get tipped to judge.”

“So what brings _you_ to Marvel?”

Natasha rests her elbows on the edge of the bar and her face turns so thoughtful. “I like it out here with the woods and the lake and the air.” She laughs at herself, a rough, smoky sound that makes his chest feel tight. “The city can be so loud and hectic, but not here, you know?” Steve nods without having to think about it. He does more than most. “And the spring break crowd is easy to please and tip well.”

Steve grins into his pint glass. Beautiful, funny and charming. Some have all the luck. “Speaking of…” He reaches for his wallet.

“Oh no.” She touches the back of his hand to stop him again. “Boss would kill me if I took money from a friend.”

“Boss might also kill you if you don’t quit _flirting_ and remember you’ve got other customers too,” Sam says, suddenly reappearing beside Steve. He tries to put on a serious face, but Sam always has a hard time fighting a smile.

Natasha tilts her head at Sam, propping a hand on her jutted hip. “You would know what the crack of Maria’s whip feels like, wouldn’t you, Wilson?”

“Wow,” Sam utters with mock outrage. “The wife bragged about that one time, huh?”

“It only happened once?” Natasha shakes her head like she’s disappointed. Sam laughs and nods as if to say _touché. _“Fine. I should get back to work. If you need anything, holler.” Natasha slides over to two impatient-looking men in dark suits down the bar, but not before throwing Steve one last lingering look. Sam must catch it because the next thing he knows there’s an elbow digging into his side.

“Someone’s got a crush,” Sam sings. “Someone’s got a cru-u-shhh.”

The little song and seat dance bring Steve right back to being a scrawny punk peeking over the white picket fence around Peggy’s childhood house and Sam singing the exact same tune in the exact same annoying tone.

Steve stares down at his hands. “She’s a bartender. It’s her job to—”

“I was talking about both of you, man.” Sam elbows him again, digging in between his ribs with purpose. “Straight-up love at first sight! The animated chubby love babies are still flying around your head!” Sam swats the air around his head playfully and Steve knocks his arm away.

“Cut it out, Sam.”

“Listen, I’ve known Natasha a few summers now. She doesn’t flirt like that for dollar bills, alright. She sure as hell doesn’t break out the tequila for a free shot like _ever_. I’ve never actually seen her come out of her shell like that before. Usually, she just pours drinks and makes small talk. And she was laying it on _thick_ just then. Like damn! You should ask her out.”

“Are you really pushing me to ask out one of your wife’s employees?”

“No. I’m pushing you to ask out my _friend_. Don’t worry, if you’re too shy to, I’ll hook you up. Have I ever steered you wrong?”

“Yes,” Steve answers. “All the time. All throughout high school.”

“This is going to be so good!” Sam practically buzzes with excitement, not a good sign at all. He just notices he doesn’t have a drink and sneaks behind the bar to pour for himself. “Hey, you said redhead—”

“I didn’t actually.”

“—and did your boy deliver or did your boy deliver!”

Steve nearly guzzles beer to give him something to do with his hands and a reason to not have to respond to Sam being ridiculous. Still, every time Steve glances at the redheaded bartender, Sam’s words ring true. She’s much more reserved, colder towards the men whose clothes suggest they have the means to tip pretty handily. And every time she catches Steve staring, she sends him a slight smirk. Something tells him it’s going to be an interesting summer.

…

Touch is different in human skin.

She remembers touching Steve on the hand twice tonight. Once to stop him from hastily drinking down the tequila and the second to stop him from pulling out his wallet. Both times leave her feeling warm and giddy. How can something as simple as a single touch make her feel...to much...more than she has maybe ever? She wants to do it again. She wants _more_. It’s so unlike her and yet… She will deny it even to herself, but the impulse has always been there when it comes to him.

“Smooth.” Sam takes a seat at the mostly empty bar long after Steve leaves. He plays with his set of keys, waiting for Maria to finish up whatever she’s working on in her office so he can drive her home.

It’s closing time, her feet ache, but she’ll adjust soon enough. She has many more nights just like this to look forward to all summer. She can get through it. She’s done it before. And this summer Steve could walk through the door while she's working and make her shift much more interesting. She knows it’s dangerous to mix business and pleasure like this, but can anyone blame her? He’s like a prince straight out of a fairytale she thinks she remembers reading in her life before the wolves.

Natasha blinks slowly and plays coy. “Too much?”

“Depends. Were you trying to get him to ask you out or tryin’a eat him alive?”

Natasha doesn’t like being criticized, especially when it comes to something she knows she’s good at and she knows she’s damn good at luring a man in and getting what she wants from him. But Sam’s body language reads playful, joking, something friends do so she shrugs lazily, surely how a friend would react.

“There’s a difference?” Natasha asks.

“That’s entirely up to you, but when it comes to Steve, the good former altar boy who helps old ladies carry their groceries to their cars?” Sam shrugs right back. “He’s not really a summer fling kind of guy. If you’re really interested, slow your roll, get to know him. You’ve got all summer.”

Little does he know…

“He’s cute,” Natasha says, “but I don’t know…”

Sam raises an eyebrow, always so animated, full of drama. Sometimes it surprises her he played baseball in high school instead of starring in the musical. Then he breaks out in a grin and she knows she has him just where she wants him. “Ahhhh, I see what you’re doing. You want me to put in a good word for you, right? You want me to play _matchmaker_.”

He literally sings that last part. See. So theatrical. 

“Absolutely not, Wilson.”

“Oh, alright. I got you. Nope. Staying out of it. Alright. Cool. Have a good night, Natasha. See you tomorrow.” Sam gives her an exaggerated wink and when she flicks her wrist like she’s about to snap her rag at him, Sam runs off, cackling. Sometimes human interaction can be exhausting, but leaves her smiling too.

Steve Rogers is sweet and harmless and _good_. She’s observed him from the shadows long enough to know this. She doesn’t expect to find him lurking when her shift ends, trying to get into her hotel room hours after making eye contact. Steve isn’t like the other men she’s had to dismantle. Not so much that she doubts her ability to finish the job. All it means is Steve Rogers is a project and Natasha is the best student the Red Room ever made.

Now that she’s met him, maybe taking her time isn’t such a terrible idea. There’s something about him and being close to him, enveloped in his scent and the focus of his eyes. _Blue_. _So_ blue. His eyes are so blue and unlike anything she’s seen before. She just wants to stare and get lost in them, but that would mean letting him look too long into hers. He definitely tried, clearly wondering what she thought he might, but he never asked. _Have we met before?_

_Yes_, that little voice inside of her whispers. _More times than you’ll ever realize._

Fingers thumping against the bar interrupt her thoughts. 

“We’re closed for the night,” she barks.

Her guard goes up at the sudden scent in the air. She knows it and doesn’t trust it. Getting lost in thoughts of Steve allowed an enemy to sneak up on her and she swears not never let it happen again. The man on the other side of the bar gives her a grin. Bastard. Then scratches at his scalp in a way that’s reminiscent of, well, a dog. Her eyes go straight to his hearing aids and she knows humans consider it impolite to stare. Still, she can’t help, but wonder if he really needs those things when in human skin and if that changes when he changes or if it’s a diversion and ensures polite company never look at him too closely.

“Darn,” he says. “I was really craving a Shirley Temple. Extra cherries.”

She feels the urge to growl, a warning not to fuck with her, and if she had less control, she would. Instead, she calmly goes about filling a glass with ginger ale and a splash of grenadine. She pushes the glass across the bar to him and he gives her an expectant tilt of his head. Natasha rolls her eyes and plops a handful of cherries into his glass, paying no attention to how the drink splashes over the edge and onto the bar.

“Sweet,” he says, bringing the drink to his lips for a noisy sip. “See, I’m technically not allowed to drink on the job and sometimes I actually listen.”

“Something we have in common.” Natasha smiles, turning up the charm just a notch.

“Not the only thing,” he mutters, taking another loud, long sip. “Work, work, work. I’m _so_ busy with work I missed my kid’s little league game. And not for the first time either. Say, it’s a shame about that local kid. The town’s star pitcher or something, right? It’s the funniest thing. I overheard some people saying he was taken by wolves.”

“Ridiculous,” Natasha says. “Wolves don’t take people. They eat them.”

The man’s eyes turn serious as he levels Natasha with a look that says he’s done playing games. It doesn’t intimidate her in the least. She watches him in her peripheral as she wipes the bar down with a rag. He lowers his voice to a deadly whisper. “If we find out you and yours are planning something…”

She meets his eyes with a sharp stare of her own. “Is that an accusation?”

He busies himself with his drink. “Nope. If it were the Widows, you would’ve taken the sister instead.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She gives him a sickeningly sweet smile. “I’m just a bartender.”

“And this is just a little chit-chat,” he says. “All I’m saying is the minute I catch you with blood on your muzzle…Green light means go.” He noisily sips again and does so on purpose. “Why don’t we cut to the chase, huh? If you’ve got questions, ask. I’m right here. Leave Steve Rogers outta it. He’s a good guy and he doesn’t know anything.”

Natasha figured that out all on her own, but the fact that this sorry excuse for a man-wolf feels the need to say it makes her think they do have something to hide.

“Is there anything else I can get you?” Natasha asks with such obvious fake sweetness.

“One more question. Tell me, do you enjoy being their attack dog?”

Natasha looks him right in the eyes and asks, “Do you?”

He laughs like he finds her hilarious, finishes his drink and throws down some cash. Natasha watches him from the moment he turns his back to when he disappears out the door. When she hears the hotel doors swoop open as he walks out of the lobby and swoop close after, Natasha glances down at his empty glass. He didn’t eat a single damn cherry.

…

She dreams that night.

She doesn’t dream while she’s a wolf. She’s always wondered why that is. Maybe Steve—no—_the mark_ knows. Maybe his researcher friends know.

In the morning, Natalia shakes thoughts of _him _from her head. She forces herself to think of how to win favor back with Madame B. First, she should finish this mission quickly. It’s simple. This is the kind of task you give a pup fresh off their graduation ceremony, not her. Natasha is the best of them and she knows it. That’s why Dottie is so threatened by her, Yelena so jealous and Alexei has some delusion of her and him ruling the woods as king and queen some day.

She thinks about what Shirley Temple said about the mark. He’s right, of course. It’s best for the mission if she doesn’t let herself be drawn in and carried away even though a part of her craves his touch more than anything the Red Room could ever offer her.

No. 

Her job is simple. Find out what he knows. Finish the mission. Disappear.

Yeah, she decides, that’s exactly what she’ll do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie, the only reason I updated this is because @xo_stardust720 asked and she's always been the sweetest to me.
> 
> I've been kicking myself for starting to post this when I should have known better and been done with this fandom after FNL. I hate hate hate leaving this unfinished. I've met so many cool people through my Romanogers love, but I'm tired (mostly of the anon bullshit I get on Tumblr). It makes me want to disengage with the MCU entirely. I'm sorry it means you beautiful humans lose out after being nothing short of awesome and supportive. Thank you for reading and caring all these years. It's been fun, but it isn't right now. Hopefully, I'll be back again and finish this when it is.


End file.
